


The Sweet Mess of You

by CaptainTarthister



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Advertising AU, Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Biting, Blow Jobs, Boners, Brienne Is Naked A Lot, Chefs, Co-workers, Counter Sex, Cunnilingus, Doggy Style, Ejaculation, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerfucking, Floor Sex, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Incest Jokes, Jaime Can't Stop Looking, Kitchen Sex, Man-whore Jaime Lannister, Nipple Licking, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PATISSERIE AU, Pastry Chef!Jaime, Period Sex, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Public Hand Jobs, Public Nudity, Public Sex, Quickies, Rough Fingering, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Scratching, Secrets, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Slow Build, Smut, Threesome - F/F/M, Vaginal Sex, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2020-07-11 22:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 188,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19935868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: Once adored and loved in the world of desserts, pastry chef Jaime Lannister has lost his way and is reduced to seducing business partners and food critics for The Sapphire Patisserie to remain afloat. New partner Brienne Tarth, the daughter of his former silent partner and eager to leave the cruel corporate world, is determined to save the business through old-fashioned grit.Despite the clash of personalities, Jaime finds himself inspired to create new confections and Brienne finds the strength to choose herself and make a stand. The frosting is definitely on the cupcake for these two, but it will take a while before they eat it.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kristilove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kristilove/gifts), [catherineflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catherineflowers/gifts).



> For tirelessly sewing me back together again and again. 
> 
> Thank you for your friendship.

_So fucking worth it joining the dessert expo._

In the two months since Jaime began fucking Margaery , he had come to know her naughty, adventurous streak. It was reason enough to keep fucking her, although her curling, caramel-brown hair and doe-like brown eyes were bonuses rather than justifications.

Tonight, the only hardship he might have to deal with was keeping up. He smirked as Margaery devoured the full, pink lips of a redhead fresh to their play.

The latter’s name was Sandy or Nancy. Jaime didn’t really care, not right now. What was hard to forget was the body promised under the form-hugging suit she was wearing at the expo earlier. Her breasts were fuller than he expected and topped with cute little pink nipples that Margaery kept plucking through their kiss. Brown hair spilled over rich, silky auburn spread over the pillowcase. When the other woman opened her eyes to look at Jaime, he saw a light blue stare.

Margaery had the redhead’s face between her small hands, eating at her mouth as if starved and diving for slops. Jaime wished she would finesse it but Sandy or Nancy (Sally?) was moaning like a bitch in heat, drawing Margaery between her slim thighs. He watched as their naked bodies writhed and rubbed against each other.

With their lithe limbs and smooth, creamy skin, they looked like graceful marble figurines come to life for a sapphic interlude dictated by him. Keeping his eyes on their twisting, thrusting bodies, he loosened his belt, lowered the zipper of his jeans.

Probably-Sally closed her eyes again, sighing against Margaery’s tongue. Jaime tilted his head, the dimples framing his grin deepening as Margaery’s fingers slid towards the redhead’s smooth cunt. Slim fingers probed the labia, revealing inner skin the color of rose and little clit. Jaime’s cock thrust in their direction as Margaery pushed a finger between the spread folds, drawing a groan from the other woman.

Jaime wanted to punch the air and howl. This was the prize deserved by all gamblers.

And the gods rewarded him more when Maybe-Nancy suddenly turned and put Margaery on her back, her long legs pushing her thighs apart. Jaime grunted from the hot wave of lust that swept through him as her auburn head lowered to Margaery’s cunt. Loud, wet slurps followed, then Margaery’s shrill cries.

Hands gripping the bars of the headboard, she looked at Jaime over the woman’s head. “Come here.”

“You seem to be getting along fine without me,” he drawled. He made no effort to hide his growing arousal and was in no rush walking to the bedside table to retrieve a condom packet. The redhead suddenly sat up, smiling at him with shiny lips. Her heavy, firm breasts swung as she sat up and folded her long legs. His eyes dropped briefly to her cunt.

“I can help with that, Jaime.”

“Oh, you are,” he drawled, retrieving condom and lube from the drawer. “But do you know what would make me really happy?”

He beckoned her to come forward with a crook of his finger. Margaery giggled as Likely-Sally crawled to him on all fours. He swiped a thumb around on her lips before whispering in her ear. She sat back on her heels, smiling at him and then they turned to Margaery.

“Think you can do that?” Damn. Now would be a good time to remember her name. “Uh, baby?”

Margaery stretched languorously on the bed before turning on her hands and knees. She looked at Jaime and then. . .Baby(?)“Do it.

Sammy/Baby turned back to Jaime, sucking on her middle finger. He nodded as she pressed it against Margaery’s opening before pushing inside slowly. Margaery threw her head back, instinctively resisting. Jaime kissed her on the mouth, urging her with every press of his lips to relax and let go. He kissed her long enough to distract her and pulled away when she yelped and tumbled forward as the finger fucking her gained speed.

It was fucking sexy, seeing the two little globes of her ass jiggling from the force of Sandy/Nancy’s plunging finger. Jaime kissed her hard on the mouth, cupping her breasts from behind to play with her nipples. As Margaery’s cries sharpened, Jaime nibbled on her neck

Margaery groaned into the pillow as Jaime and Sandy/Nancy continued to kiss, him drawing her further in the heated world of want and lust with every thrust of tongue. He continued to grip her wrist, guiding it to the rough pace he wanted delivered into Margaery’s ass. Her cries sharpened from the quickening strokes of the finger. Pleased, Jaime kissed Probably Annie deeper, taking a deep draw of her tongue to get the full punch of Margaery’s flavor there.

He pinched her little nipples as she kissed him back frantically, gripping them to jiggle her tits. She whined and moved closer to him. He startled her into a stop with a hand around her neck, forcing it a hard angle so she looked up at him.

“Has a woman made you come with her mouth?”

She shook her head. “I’ve only kissed one woman before. In college.”

He smiled. “You’re a sweet thing, aren’t you?”

She frowned. “I’m not a virgin.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said patiently, catching her wrist so she will stop fucking Margaery with her finger. “I meant to say you _do_ belong in the sugar business.” He remembered that much. That she was in the sales and marketing distribution of Winterfell Sugar Company.

“So, how about it? You want to know what it’s like to have a woman’s mouth on your pussy?” He swept her hair away from a slim shoulder. “Margaery’s talents are vast. Especially in the bedroom.”

“Sansa,” Margaery turned to her. Ah, yes. That was her name. Sansa. Jaime kept the smile on his face. A most ridiculous name in his opinion. The problem with rare names was they could be difficult to remember. He did remember the essentials, he thought, pinching her nipple again.

“You’ll love what I will do to you,” Margaery continued, holding out a hand to her. “Come.”

Sansa whimpered as Jaime twisted her nipple harshly. “You make it hard to say no.”

He kissed her. “Good girl.”

Margaery took her by the hand and kissed her on the mouth again. Sansa kissed her back. They tangled their fingers into each other’s hairs as their kiss deepened. She was lowered to the bed, moaning as Margaery licked her throat and cupped her tits. She settled on top of her, taking a nipple in her mouth then the other. Jaime uncapped the lube, watching intently when her fingers fluttered to Sansa’s cunt and spread her labia open.

Sansa’s legs bent and squeezed around Margaery’s hand. Still kissing, muffling her mewls, Margaery settled on top of her. She pulled her finger out of Sansa and Jaime caught her hand, licking it clean. She tasted like raw sugar. He hummed in approval and circled the women.

Again they were two writhing bodies, cunts rubbing each other, moans growing richer by the second. Sansa quaked from Margaery’s long, indulgent pulls of her nipple. Brown eyes slid to Jaime as her tongue trailed down Sansa’s stomach. He stared back at her, giving a slight nod of encouragement as he stroked his cock.

He hissed softly from his calloused hand closing around his smooth, hardening shaft. Though he wore the look of calm watching the women, his body got more tensed with every dive of Margaery’s head between Sansa’s breasts, Sansa’s round nails leaving pretty scratches on her shoulders. His thumb swiped firmly around the plump head of his cock when Margaery pressed a little kiss on her cunt before sweeping the lips open again.

When Sansa’s mouth opened to let out another cry, Jaime seized his cock and pushed it inside her. He closed his eyes, thrusting firmly into her while her mouth strained. Her quivering slender throat was a welcome sensation to her moist mouth and tongue. Margaery continued to flay her cunt with tongue, and a hand reached for one of her breasts to pull at her swollen nipple. Jaime took hold of another and twisted it harshly.

Sansa thrashed through their combined assault, trying to roll against Margaery’s face, her hand gripping Jaime’s thigh. He continued fucking her mouth, heedless of the other woman’s pleasure and comfort. Only himself. When he was hard enough, he dragged her by the hair off it.

“Wait—wait—” Sansa protested, reaching for him, looking at Margaery eating her out then back at Jaime. “More—I want—”

“Later,” Jaime told her. “Get on your knees now.”

Margaery let go long enough for Sansa to do as he told. She rose on her knees too, kissing her on the mouth. “He tastes good, doesn’t he?” She whispered, smiling at him.

Sansa nodded, looking hungrily at Jaime. “You should come in my mouth next time.”

“Noted,” he said, smiling as he put the condom on. He knelt behind Margaery, pressing a hand on the small of her narrow back to signal he wanted her on all fours. She slanted another smile at him and obeyed, burying her face in Sansa’s cunt again. Jaime grabbed Sansa by the shoulder to steady her, looking at her intently before smearing lube in and around Margaery’s asshole.

“Keep touching her,” he encouraged Sansa, nodding at Margaery. “Tell her what you want. Her tongue on your clit? Her fingers in your pussy?”

“I want them all,” Sansa exclaimed breathlessly, pushing her fingers through Margaery’s hair. “Do it. I want it.”

With Margaery distracted with the next phase of pleasing Sansa, Jaime spread her cheeks open and slowly pressed inside. She tensed instinctively, freezing from kissing Sansa. He put a hand on the small on her back, stilling her. Sansa, catching on what was needed, buried her fingers in Margaery’s hair and pulled her closer to her cunt.

Jaime only had to wait a few seconds to pull out and thrust in Margaery again. _Fuck_. She was pretty much used back there but no less tight. In and out he went, gripping the silky skin of her ass while looking at Sansa’s mouth falling slack from more kisses and tongue. Her breasts swayed as she thrust back and forth against Margaery, her eyes meeting his stare.

Feeling his imminent release, he suddenly grabbed her. With Margaery’s body between them, his cock fully imbedded in her, he kissed Sansa on the mouth, gripping her by neck and chin to ply her mouth as roughly as he liked. She dragged her lips from the kiss to cry out as she came, her throat trembling under his hand. Jaime’s hold tightened as he spilled into the latex soon after, thrusting into Margaery until spent.

A while later, as Margaery and Sansa slept, Jaime took a shower. His body was heavy and would be grateful to crash on the comfort of the mattress. He actually spent a full ten seconds with his forehead resting against the wall, eyes closed and warm water raining on him. For all his tiredness from preparations concerning the expo and then going on two rounds with he women, he had been restless in bed.

It was not a matter of the crowded space—he had slept with more than two women in a bed before but tonight, the appeal of sleeping between two, perfumed nubile bodies was quick to wear out. He sighed loudly, scrubbing the soap a bit too hard on his arm. Fucking was his favorite way of unwinding after a long day on his feet yelling at staff to not whip the egg whites too hard or giving them hell for the inedible pie crust. Sliding his tongue in the warm mouth of a gorgeous woman, riding hard between legs willing to remain open for as long as he wished—there was no better indulgence on earth.

Jaime was probably the only chef who would want a woman for his last meal. Kissing a sweet, full-lipped mouth. Fucking a dripping cunt. He would be happy to die between the legs of such a woman. And if there was love between them. . .if that was even possible then that was how he would choose to go. In the arms of the woman he loved.

He rinsed, threw on a robe and headed back to the bedroom. Once there, however, all he could do was stand at the foot of the bed. And stare.

All the lights were off except for the pale glow of the moon sneaking between the gaps of the window blinds. Any man would have gladly fallen asleep between women as beautiful as Margaery and Sansa. Any man.

Yet here he was, just looking at what little he could see of their entwined bodies. Remembering the pull of Sansa’s mouth on his cock. The heat of Margaery’s ass. Their tongues and mouths warming his cock as they passed it back and forth with kisses later. Then how they licked them clean following that. He would be eighty years old and it was still the hottest thing he had seen.

He sighed and turned away to leave. In the living room, he tossed the throw pillows to the floor except for one and squeezed himself in the limited space. His body seemed to melt into the leather at once.

Sleep came to him on the next breath. A deep, dreamless sleep that was exactly what he needed. A bomb going off right next to him would most likely be ignored.

And for this reason, he wouldn’t know about the missed phone calls until a few hours later.

********

With something akin to fire spreading within her body, Brienne gasped and grunted as she felt her orgasm approach. Her fists tore a pillow at the seams, releasing a fluff of feathers. Renly, panting heavily behind her, slammed so hard in her cunt that the entire bed moved and banged against the wall.

She could taste the sweetness of the release. It was at the tip of her tongue. A hell of a hot, hellish tease. She firmed her hands on the pillow, thrusting against Renly as she strived to meet her orgasm halfway.

She shrieked when Renly suddenly moved, dragging her with him until they lay on their sides, her back flat against his chest. Eyes of varying blue met as he pulled her leg up, widening her cunt. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as his cock pushed deeper in her. Cradling her in one arm and the other holding her leg up, he resumed fucking her, his breaths kissing her open mouth. She sent her fingers down to her cunt, to her clit. To play.

“Yes,” Renly hissed, suddenly taking her mouth in a kiss. She kissed him back, rubbing hard circles on her clit as he thrust in and out.

Brienne yanked her mouth from his kiss to shriek as she came, her fingers frantic on her clit. Renly panted against her cheek as he hit his release too, his cock rutting mindlessly in her until he sighed. She let out a breath too, her head falling limp and heavy on the pillow. He stole her breath with another kiss on the mouth.

They grinned at each other, their faces gleaming with sweat. Her fingers caressed his smooth jaw before wearily glancing at his cock, now soft but still inside her. He kissed her again and pulled out. Gratefully, Brienne fell on the bed.

Tired as she was, her eyes warmed with appreciation watching Renly pull off the condom and toss it away. She turned to face him, and he put a hand on her thigh.

“You’re a slob.”

“Proudly.”

Fucking really was the best way to unwind. It was a religion where Brienne was a fairly recent convert, and Renly happy to function as a naughty septon eager to guide her with interludes on the copier, on the desk in his office and then his apartment.

Two days from now, she will be pitching a new campaign for The Golden Company, an exclusive, luxury brand of jewelry. Until Spectrum, through Brienne, made the pitch six years ago about the necessity of advertising, The Golden Company had never done anything close to it except through word of mouth within its very discreet, very rich clientele.

Brienne was only a junior copywriter then, who used to walk past The Golden Company’s store on her way to work when she was inspired to convince Spectrum to make a pitch. She had wowed her bosses at the advertising agency and from The Golden Company with her copy, the visuals designed according to her instructions and her own market research. It resulted in nailing a seven-million-dollar account for Spectrum and a promotion as art director two years later. The jewelry company’s sales increased by thirty percent too as a result of the advertising.

As a result, Brienne nurtured her relationship with the company. When they called two weeks ago requesting for a new campaign, she had quickly assembled her team to prioritize it.

Another reason was she hoped their pitch, besides pleasing the client, would also mean another promotion. One of Spectrum’s creative directors had left due to a promotion in another company. The position had been vacant for six months and she wanted it.

Creatives and the practical side involved in a campaign were still exciting for her, but she craved a more supervisory position now. She had gleaned everything to be learned and done as art director and was angling for a new challenge. Becoming creative director was the juicy challenge she hoped to sink her teeth into, and one she was happy to relieve from Renly. Renly was one of the account managers in Spectrum but due to the vacant position, currently handled its duties too.

Relaxed as she was from fucking, Brienne found herself wide awake an hour later. She glanced at Renly, who now slept with his back facing her. Her eyes warmed looking at the thick, black curs of his hair, the rich, even tan of his body. She would rouse him for another round, but his snore felled her plan.

She threw on his robe and went to the kitchen in search of nibbles.

From the cupboards, she found a package of salt-and-vinegar potato chips. The perfect complement was the ice-cold beer the fridge yielded when she opened it next. She sat at the counter stuffing her mouth with the heavenly, bad-for-your-heart saltiness of the junk food in between swigs of beer, hoping that once satisfied she would rejoin Renly in bed.

Instead, eating and alcohol made her even more restless. She tuned in to Netflix but that only snagged her attention for a few minutes before she was on her feet again, walking and just going around mindlessly. Finally, she made her way to his study. He kept his laptop there and she used it to work sometimes when sleeping over. Sometimes they also looked at porn there together.

Renly’s laptop was open. She clicked a key experimentally and found it had only gone to sleep. She punched in his password, expecting to see the familiar background of a wall of neckties. Instead, she was confronted with an image that at first didn’t make sense to her despite recognizing the logo and every word and every image.

And when she realized what it was, she got all the more confused.

She blinked and clicked the mouse. No. _It couldn’t be._

“Hey,” Renly’s sleepy voice startled her, sending a hand to her heart. “Sorry,” he continued, rubbing his eyes. Normally, Brienne would be blushing and all excited seeing such a beautiful, naked man standing less than five feet away from her. “Can’t sleep?”

Brienne looked at the monitor again then him. “Renly, what’s this?”

“What are you talking about?” Now that he was done rubbing his eyes, he directed his clear, navy blue gaze at her.

Wordlessly, she turned the laptop to him. She stood up from behind the desk, crossing her arms as Renly stared at the screen then at her. “Brienne—”

“I thought I was doing the pitch for The Golden Company. They want me to do the pitch, Renly. That has always been the way. One of their requirements when they agreed to do the advertising with us. You gave me and my team the go-ahead for what we will be presenting. I thought it was, ‘As golden as your dreams.’ What’s this thing about. . .” she squinted then read it aloud. “`Our word is as good as gold.’”

Renly hung his head and sighed loudly. “I was hoping to talk to you about this later.”

“Later?”

“Yeah. At breakfast.”

“What’s there to talk about? I’m doing the pitch, Renly. Where did this come from? Who’s doing this?” She gestured angrily at the laptop.

Renly sighed again and reached for her. “Brienne, it’s late. We’ll talk about this in the morning when we’re both rested—”

“No. We’re talking about this now. What’s going on?” When he just stared at her, she spoke again, surprised to find herself break. “Renly. . .Renly, this pitch. . .you have no idea how important it is to me. You know. . .in my last evaluation I made it clear I was hoping for a promotion and wanted to do the work it entailed. I’ve been saying the same thing for two years. This pitch is a lock with The Golden Company, Renly. And I—I hope you and your bosses would see at last. . .I _deserve_ to be creative director.”

She hated how her voice trembled. And hated it more when Renly looked at her with a mix of pity and sympathy. He looked ridiculous with his cock out while staring at her as her the rug was pulled from under her. Hissing in frustration, she grabbed the pillow from the chair and tossed it at him.

“Cover up,” she ordered.

Renly, covering his cock with the pillow, spoke up. “I know you deserve to be creative director, Brienne. But. . .but the top brass had decided to get Hyle Hunt. Randyll Tarly himself made that decision.”

“Hyle Hunt?” Brienne couldn’t believe it. “Renly, that man is just a fucking senior copywriter from another agency. And they loathe him. Why. . .” She shook her head and declared, “I’m art director. I’m next in line for creative director.”

“Randyll Tarly would like to transfer you to the athletic and leisure department. They don’t have an art director right now.”

Randyll Tarly was CFO of Spectrum. Though he wasn’t president, he had enough power regarding who got hired, fired and stayed on. Brienne knew for a fact that he had not been too keen to hire her when word got around that she was the new junior copywriter. He was a hardcore traditionalist who still believed women were only good for secretarial positions and not much else. It explained why there were few women in the agency in supervisory positions.

Brienne enjoyed advertising and gobbled up trends, studied what she could from fields related to it. Besides copywriting, she had also worked as a photographer’s assistant, took classes in food styling and finished an MBA. While these things was often met with approval from others, Randyll Tarly viewed it as overly ambitious.

“Beer and footlocker division,” Brienne growled. “That’s not my area and you know it. I’ve always been luxury and indulgence, Renly. Why am I being transferred? Who will take over my position?”

Renly looked at her. “Podrick Payne.”

Her copywriter. A diligent, earnest man who made a great sparring partner when bouncing off wild campaigns with imaginary companies. Brienne didn’t know whether to be pleased that a person she mentored was moving up or that this same person was going to take over her position.

“This doesn’t make sense. My campaigns from various clients have netted Spectrum at least twenty-five million dragons in revenue. That’s just me, Renly. _Me._ It’s _my_ name every prospective client hears of behind a campaign, _my_ pitch that they want. I’m not asking to be god of fucking Spectrum. I just want the position I’ve worked hard for all these years. Six years, Renly. Six years.”

“Brienne. . .I don’t control Randyll Tarly, okay? He wants you in that other division and there’s nothing I can do.”

“Nothing you can do? You’re my boyfriend!”

Renly looked away.

Brienne felt sick. “I don’t believe this. You pursued me. I told you it’s not right, but you still pursued me until I caved. I was so fucking stupid. I learned to care for you because I thought you cared for me too—”

“Of course I care about you, Brienne!”

“Then why didn’t you fight for me? Why don’t you believe in me?”

“Baby, I believe in you, you know that. You’re nothing short of amazing. Most women would have run screaming in the other direction when their boyfriend tells them he’s bi—”

“Fuck the bloody gods, Renly. This isn’t about you. This is about us. My boyfriend claiming to care for me when he took part in screwing me over!”

In her anger, Brienne suddenly grabbed the laptop. Renly yelled but it was too late. He could only duck out of the way as she threw it at him. It cracked upon hitting the wall, shattered in two when crashed to the floor. Wiring, jagged glass and bits of steel and plastic lay exposed on the carpet.

She scowled at him as he stared aghast at the scattered pieces of the computer before turning back to her. 

“No wonder that fucking campaign reeks. I’d bet that was Hyle’s first project with the agency, isn’t it? ‘Our word is as good as gold’—pitch that to the Golden Company and let’s see if they won’t take their business elsewhere.”

She stormed past him and headed back to the bedroom. Her strides remained swift and sure even as Renly came after her. “You can’t take any clients from the agency, Brienne, and you know it. You do that and you’ll have an ugly lawsuit in your hands. Do you want that on top of destroying private property?”

Brienne glared at him. “How would you like it if I go to the press and tell them my boss still pursued me even when I told him many times I wasn’t interested?”

“Everyone knows we’re fucking, Brienne,” he scoffed.

“But do they know that you used the company credit card when we had that weekend at Dorne?”

She smirked as Renly shut up. She went back to the bedroom, flinging off his robe and picking up her clothes. Renly could only watch her. He still held the pillow below his waist.

“Where are you going?”

“Do you honestly think I will stay here for another minute after what you’ve just done? That I will still fuck you after you screwed me over?”

She shoved her dress on, pushed her feet into the stilettos and grabbed her phone and purse from the nightstand. She stomped to the hall closet to grab her coat, covering the dress left unzipped at the back.

“Brienne, come on. It doesn’t have to end like this. You still have a job. And you can give it another try. I’m sorry, I should have fought for you. But it’s done, baby. It’s done.”

Brienne finished belting her coat closed and turned to him. Her eyes were blue ice. “You’re right. It’s done.”

Renly opened his arms. “Come here. Come on. We can talk about this.”

Her lips curled and she reached for the door. “Consider this my two weeks’ notice, Renly. Effective immediately. I will send for my things at the office before the end of the week.”

“Brienne—”

She walked out and slammed the door behind her. Then hurried down the hallway, ignoring the elevator. Instead she went for the fire escape. Climbing down seven flights of stairs in stilettos would calm her. Probably.

In theory, it should. Concentrating putting one foot in front of the other, keeping her balance in the blasted, three-inch high things. But by the time she reached the fifth floor, her ankles were too wobbly. With a wail, she sank on a step, shaking. She hugged herself, a hand over her mouth to muffle her whimpers.

Every time she cared for someone, for something, her heart was dragged through the mud.

She hated it when the tears began to fall. And wanted to kick herself as sobs left her mouth. She wanted to cling to anger, to hatred, but hurt was a fast, efficient motherfucker. There was nothing she could do. Nothing to do but hug herself and cry.

As she trembled and sobbed, her phone rang. “No,” she moaned. _Please don’t let it be Renly. No. Not Renly. Not Renly._ She took the phone from her bag and swiped the screen to answer.

“H-Hello?”

“Hi, Brienne.” A familiar voice said from the other line. “It’s—It’s Gilly.”

Her dad’s nurse. “Gilly.” She sniffed and sat up. “Gilly, is dad okay? Why are you calling?”

“I’m sorry, Brienne. I’m so sorry—”

“What---” she started to say and then it hit her. Gilly’s quiet sobbing confirmed what it meant.

This time, Brienne let out a broken, pained wail.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most foods, even without following a recipe strictly, turned out divine. Not so with desserts. The beauty of sugary concoctions and the fluff crowning them did not come from letting loose in the kitchen just eyeballing the amount of spices and other ingredients to toss in a pan. Desserts depended on precise, correct measures. A cup of flour too many could spell disaster. An oven not set to the right temperature would make all your hard work turn to shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shoutout to SeleneU for letting me bitch, whine and growl about the length of this chapter! And to catherineflowers for saving this from becoming a very long and boring update!
> 
> Thank you so much!

After Selwyn’s funeral was coffee and some nibbles back at Brienne’s place. The space was expansive but modest—enough to hold a small gathering. She hired a small catering staff of three to distribute the food. Beverages were found on the kitchen island, where the choice was coffee and tea.

She eyed the crowd milling around her apartment, attaching names to Selwyn’s old friends and associates. Her dad had been a quiet man, with only a few friends that could be described as close. She saw her own friends in the mix, such as Dacey Mormont with her husband Tormund Giantsbane, Ellaria Sand and Oberyn Martell, and people from work like Podrick Payne. Her eyes narrowed briefly at Renly, who at least stayed at a distance. As her gaze shifted to the buffet table, she saw a blond man with chiseled features standing there eyeing the canapes with disdain.

For the life of her she had seen him before. Knew it in her gut. In her head was the shadow of a name but eluding capture from memory. She sighed. Later she could thank him. For in that moment she was trying to figure out who he was, she forgot where she was. Why she was here—until a hand fell on her shoulder, followed by a soft utter of her dad’s name. She turned to give her full attention to the person. It didn’t take long for everyone to kind of line up to express their condolences.

It was rude but after shaking hands and thanking people for attending the funeral and coming to her place, Brienne had locked herself in the bedroom. She sat on the window seat hugging her knees, staring at the sun-dappled city street.

There was no worse reminder that her dad was dead than seeing how life went on for everyone else. Her face against the glass, she watched a young mom pull her crying baby from the stroller. Not too far away was the café with outdoor seating, crowded at the moment with people happily digging in their lunches or just having a smoke with a glass of wine. A dog walker was dragged down the street by the seven, no, nine leashed dogs wanting to go in nine different directions at once.

Someone tapped on the door. Sighing, Brienne got up and answered it. It was Gilly, who had looked after her dad so faithfully in his final months.

“Are you alright?” She asked, looking up at Brienne. Her limp dark hair was loose on her shoulders. She was dressed in a long-sleeved black dress and matching flat sandals.

Brienne shrugged. “I don’t know. Are people looking for me?”

“Not yet. But if you want them gone, I can make it happen.”

Wouldn’t that be lovely. “Thanks, Gilly. It’s alright. I’ll be out soon.”

“There’s someone looking for you. I think his name is Remy or—”

Brienne couldn’t believe it. “Renly?”

“Yes. With nice navy blue eyes.”

They wouldn’t be nice if she punched them, Brienne thought, hiding her temper. She grasped Gilly’s hands. “Tell him I don’t want to talk to him or see him ever. Would you, Gilly?”

“Of course.” Gilly assured her.

Brienne watched Gilly leave and sighed, knowing she would have to face the music now.

For the first time in days, she dared to look at herself in the mirror. Sleeplessness and despondency, coupled with the stress of making funeral arrangements and going over Selwyn’s affairs, had given her swollen eyes with dark circles and a sallow complexion. She pinched her cheeks for color, flattened the top of her chin-length bob. She straightened her blouse and skirt, thinking to dump them in the trash as soon as they were off her body. There was no way she was going to wear any of her clothes from this day again.

Almost as soon as she was out of the room, people came for her again. She bit her lip to stop the tears again when Duncan, one of Selwyn’s old friends, gave her a bear hug so tight she feared for her ribs. But she hugged him back, allowing herself a moment to sink against his beefy but softened body.

If she cried, she knew there would be friends to reassure her. But she really didn’t want to cry. Not when her dad was no longer there to hug her and make her laugh with his silly jokes. Or make her a cup of cocoa, bake her chocolate cream pie.

As more people came forward to tell her funny memories about Selwyn or what a wonderful person he was, she saw some of her former co-workers in the crowd. Podrick Payne and Pia were clearly hesitating to approach her, so she went to them.

“Pod,” she said, nodding. “Pia.”

“Uh, hi Brienne.” Podrick looked like he wanted to die. “Um, we weren’t sure about coming given how. . .you know, with work—”

“That had nothing to do with you,” she assured him. In the rare moments she managed to breathe between the flurry of arrangements, she had asked her team how Hyle Hunt got his hands on the photographs. It was Pia who revealed that Renly asked them to turn over all the files from the photo shoot, as well as all the final artwork under Brienne’s direction.

During a lull in the rain of sympathies and condolences, Brienne made her way to the kitchen. She helped herself to some fresh, hot tea. She brought it back with her to continue thanking her guests, taking sips in between.

She was standing in front of a photo of herself as a child on Selwyn’s shoulders when a familiar, fruity scent tickled her nose. Dread filled as she recognized the faint trace of peaches.

For close to a year she had willingly fucked this jackhole who smelled like peaches, she thought as he stood next to her. She didn’t hide her scowl.

“Brienne, I—”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Brienne, don’t do this. Look, if we can just talk, the two of us. Alone—”

“No. That’s not going to happen. And if you think you’ll ever get me to spread my legs for you again I’ll be more than happy to punch you in the dick.”

Renly looked like he was about to protest when Ellaria Sand materialized at Brienne’s side. As soon as she saw the distress on her friend’s face, Ellaria glared at Renly and got between them. It didn’t matter that she was a good deal shorter and looked easy to snap in two. She looked at Renly like he was the most poisonous abomination there was.

“You’ve been asked politely to leave. You don’t want me to drag you out of here.”

Renly shook his head at Brienne, rolled his eyes at Ellaria and moved away. He kept glancing back at them and saw their eyes following him closely. Wisely, he headed for the door and went out.

“Thank you,” Brienne said as Ellaria turned to her. “I can’t believe he was here.”

“How are you holding up, sweetheart?” Ellaria asked, taking the empty cup and saucer from Brienne to put it on the tray of a passing server. She put an arm around the tall woman’s waist and looked at her with concern.

“I’m tired,” Brienne admitted, earning a clucking sound from Ellaria. “I want to huddle under the blankets and just cry and forget everything that happened.”

“Gods, if I could do that for you I would,” she said, hugging her. “Do you need me to get rid of people? Just say the word. And I can stay here tonight.”

Brienne squeezed her hand and kissed it. “I think I need to be alone.”

Ellaria looked unconvinced but respected what she wanted. “Alright. If you feel that’s best. But I’ll be on standby tonight and for the next few days in case you change your mind. If you want to go for a drive or crash at my cabin you just tell me.”

“You’re so kind,” Brienne hugged her. Tears filled her eyes again. “Thank you so much.”

********  
Jaime, carrying a covered dish, was about to knock on the door when it opened. He quickly stepped aside to let four people pass before re-entering the apartment.

Except for the catering staff packing up their equipment, and five people dressed in mourning clothes, the apartment was empty. He and his replacement canapes and chocolate cream pie seemed to have missed the rest of the wake. There was no trace of Selwyn’s daughter anywhere.

“Hi. Are you looking for Brienne?” A slender, short woman with beautiful dusky skin approached him.

As Jaime always did near a beautiful woman, he gave her a quick once-over. She had hair the color of midnight, thick and lustrous with waves flowing past her shoulders. Her black dress was conservative, high-necked and with a hem just to the knee. The flowing sleeves suggested a bit of a bohemian spirit, and he scented it from the jasmine notes of her perfume. Her tits would fight right in his palms, he guessed.

Petite. Delicate. Cute. But her black eyes had a sharp quality that reminded him of an eagle’s.

“Yes. I brought some canapes – the ones those caterers did are far below what the guests would expect from Selwyn.” Jaime said. He held out a hand. “I’m Jaime Lannister. Her dad. . .Selwyn is a—” he cleared his throat. “ _Was_ my partner in the patisserie.”

It was going to be a long time before he could accept Selwyn Tarth was dead. And even when that happened, there was still a lot wrong in the world. It was criminal how the Seven always took away the good people—the best people, and left humanity with souls not even the most desperate monster would deign to feed on.

“Oh.” She looked surprised and then put on a small smile. Jaime smiled back. Built like a twig, he thought, taking note of her skinny arms. He liked women with some meat. What they lacked in a round bottom they made up for being tireless sexual energizer bunnies. “Right. I remember.” The smile fled from her face and she glanced behind her before looking back at him. “You mean The Sapphire Patisserie?”

“That’s the one.”

“I’ll get Brienne. Do you want me to—” she gestured at the package and Jaime shook his head.

He gave her the canapes but held back on the other box. “Not that. It’s something I made for her. For Brienne. I’d like to give it myself.”

He remained standing by the door as Ellaria went to the kitchen to put the canapes there. A dark-haired man sat at the counter and he looked up as she approached. Jaime watched as Ellaria put a hand on his arm, leaning in to whisper. Then they glanced at Jaime.

“Brienne’s resting but I think she’d want to talk to you,” Ellaria told him before walking in the direction of the bedroom. He watched her disappear behind a wall.

She was quick to return. Jaime cocked an eyebrow at the blond giant following the small woman. He was seated in the middle row during the funeral, and thought her size was just an illusion. But she really was that tall. Of course she’d be, he thought. Selwyn was massive, built like a tank with a voice of thunder. His daughter shared his bright blue eyes but the closer she approached, the more it became clear to Jaime they were a vivid, sapphire shade.

He wondered if her eyes were such a standout because the rest of her was so plain. She was pale and clearly had not been sleeping well. Most women still looked a little cute despite having seven hells raining on them but this woman looked. . .well, just miserable. It wasn’t just because of her grief. Even without it, her face didn’t conjure up images of roses or delicate birds, dawn breaking across the sky.

Plain was actually a kind description. Selwyn’s daughter was. . .she was ugly. That was the gods’ honest truth. Ugly. Big, crooked nose that was wide rather than slender. Thick lips coupled with a wide mouth. Freckles despite the sickly pallor of her skin. Her shoulders were broader than his and she was taller too. Jaime was tall and he had to raise his head just to look in her eyes.

Now those were truly astonishing. There was no forgetting that blue. He had never seen anything so round and clear. They could be a reason to fuck her, he thought before his eyes dropped briefly to her tits under the black blouse. She didn’t have much going on under the silk. But past her skirt was promising. Her legs were long and shapely. Some guys liked tits. Some liked hips. Others were definite leg men.

Jaime shifted his glance back to her. 

“This is Jaime,” Ellaria told the giant. “He says he worked with your dad. Or rather your dad was the silent partner at the patisserie?”

“I saw you at the funeral earlier,” The giant said, looking at him from head to toe. “I think we’ve met before.”

“A few times but so far in between,” he assured her. “Brienne, right?”

“Yeah,” she said.

Just then, the man Ellaria had spoken to in the kitchen came forward. He was slipping his phone in his pocket and looked worried. “I’m sorry, but I need to a word with Ellaria?”

“I won’t be long,” Ellaria told Brienne.

“I’m alright, really.” Once they were alone, Brienne looked at Jaime again. “So, you’re the sugar whiz my dad could never stop raving about. That at least I remember.”

Jaime knew she was being nice but her words were a knife to the heart. “That’s generous of him.”

“Dad always was.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his chest tightening. “I don’t think there’s anyone who turned away.”

“Brienne, I’m sorry,” Ellaria suddenly said. She looked frustrated as the other guy “But there’s something going on back at our place. The super messaged something about water in the ceiling. I hate to leave you.”

“Not too crazy about it either,” the guy sent Brienne an apologetic look. “Will you be alright?”

“Oberyn, I’ll be fine. I promise,” Brienne assured him as he hugged her. Jaime squinted at the too-tight hug they shared, as well as how Oberyn seemed to nuzzle her ear. Ellaria hugged her next.

“You call me,” she said. “Anytime. Promise me, Brienne.”

“I promise,” Brienne told her.

She helped them into their coats then saw them to the door. The catering staff was next to leave. She closed the door and turned to Jaime.

She suddenly blushed.

_Interesting._

He wanted to kick himself. He was here to give his condolences, and possibly give the grieving daughter of the only person to believe in him some cheer. He glanced at the covered dish in his hands then back at the Brienne. He couldn’t remember the first time he met her, and he wasn’t the type to forget a woman. But she was that unremarkable.

In the corners and edges of memory he was sure there was the flutter of pale, rough-looking hair and those unusual eyes. She was hazy in his mind at best but stamped, tattooed, buried deep in his gut was the certainty they have crossed paths before. And a bit more than that.

“I’m sorry. Did you have that with you all along? What is it?” She nodded at the box in his hands.

“Ah, this.” He glanced at it. “I—I made it last night then went back to the shop after. . .after the funeral to get it. It seemed a good idea. . .It’s for you.”

“For me?” She looked surprised.

“Yes.”

She went to him and held out her hands. Gladly, he passed it to her, watching as she turned to head for the kitchen. For the first time since arriving, he noticed she wore only stockings. Ellaria mentioned earlier that Brienne was tired. She must have been in sitting in bed, he imagined, having just taken off her shoes and staring off into space when her friend told her about him.

He should leave. Leave her to her grief. Instead, he followed her to the kitchen. She put the box on counter.

“Thank you for this,” she said as he stood beside her. She frowned and blushed again. “Oh, gosh. I’m sorry it’s just that. . .”

He was relieved. “You need to—”

“Let me take your coat.”

It was almost cute how flustered she was having forgotten some manners. For someone big she moved fast. Jaime’s coat was off before he could come up with a protest. “Have a seat, please,” she said, gesturing loosely at the living room then the kitchen. Another blush and she shrugged. “Sorry. Please sit anywhere you wish. I just want you to be comfortable.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, pulling out a stool from under the island. “How are you?”

Brienne, putting his coat in the closet, turned to him. She didn’t say a word, just walked back to the kitchen and pulled out a stool for herself. She sat next to him, the covered dish between them.

“To be honest I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay.”

He felt exactly the same.

“You don’t mind I told you that, right? It’s just that. . .Ellaria—you’ve just met her—she’s wonderful. And I love that she cares so much about me. But I know she will be babying me for the next couple of weeks if she finds out how much I’m struggling. And I think I have to face it, you know? Sooner rather than later?”

“I don’t know. . .” he admitted. “I’d really rather not face the fact that Selwyn is gone. Not until I have to. How. . .I’m afraid I saw very little of him over the years. I saw him only a few times when I heard about the cancer.”

“It wasn’t easy on him,” she said. “Dad fought at first but in the end, it was all about managing his care. Ensuring he didn’t feel as much pain. Making him comfortable. And it’s painful having to sit next to a person who is dying at that very moment.”

“I’m sorry. I should have visited more often. Helped.”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t your responsibility, Jaime.”

“Your father believed in me.”

She looked at him with watery eyes. Her chin wobbled from the struggle to keep her tears at bay.

Jaime stared, not knowing what to do next. Around women he never had to do much. A smile. A heated look. Then she was on his lap. Or he was inside her.

He glanced at the dish before them.

For as long as Jaime could remember, food had been solace, and salvation. Desserts, especially. Though he had been formally trained as a chef, much of his knowledge came from experiences outside of cooking school. Food had been saving him his whole life. It wasn’t just sustenance for him.

Most foods, even without following a recipe strictly, turned out divine. Not so with desserts. The beauty of sugary concoctions and the fluff crowning them did not come from letting loose in the kitchen just eyeballing the amount of spices and other ingredients to toss in a pan. Desserts depended on precise, correct measures. A cup of flour too many could spell disaster. An oven not set to the right temperature would make all your hard work turn to shit.

So for Jaime, who spent time being shuffled around foster care while his dad fixed his alcoholism before succumbing to liver cancer at forty-two, the predictability the success of success dessert relied on was a comfort. Making desserts gave him the routine, the stability he never had for a long time.

Desserts were as much a comfort food as indulgence. As Brienne struggled to contain her tears, Jaime removed the cover and revealed what was under it.

“I, ah. . I made chocolate cream pie,” he said, getting up and immediately hunting for knife, fork and saucer. “It’s the first dessert I ever learned, thanks to your dad. Did he ever tell you how we met?”

Spying the cannister for kitchen utensils and a dish rack, he quickly grabbed what was needed and returned to Brienne’s side.

“Hold on, we need something to cut the pie with—”

Brienne shook her head and looked at him. “No, it doesn’t matter.”

He wanted to kick himself. He made the dish for her, to give her comfort. Not make her cry.

Staring at the generous fluff of cream crowning and chocolate shavings crowning the pie, she added, “Dad used to make this for me all the time. It’s my favorite.”

A sob spilled from her lips.

Jaime could only watch as Brienne burst into tears.

*******  
Through the blur of her tears, Brienne’s face ended up smooshed to Jaime’s chest, her tears wetting his shirt. His hands smoothing her hair, rubbing her back, did little to ease her. They only reminded Brienne that now she was really alone in the world. No dad. No other family. An orphan.

She cried until her sobs became sharp hiccups, and then Jaime had no choice but to get her something to drink. His hands brushed her hair and roamed her back again before letting go. She sat at the counter brushing fists across her eyes. As she used the sleeve of her blouse to wipe her face dry, she heard Jaime rifling in the fridge.

She stared at the luscious dessert before her. Many an afternoon as a child, she came to a note from her dad, telling her about the chocolate cream pie in the fridge waiting for her. Her childhood was an endless saga of awful days at school: getting teased for her height, made fun of her nose, how she turned red whenever the teacher called on her to give the answer. Coming home to chocolate cream pie signaled the end of such a day. It was home and it meant she was safe again.

Jaime returned to her side with a glass of water. “Thanks,” she murmured, bringing it to her lips. “I—I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He asked, sitting on the stool again. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Brienne. I’m glad you weren’t alone. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

She sipped the water and sputtered. “What the fuck is this?”

“Vodka.” He stopped her from lowering the glass. “You need the stronger stuff. Drink.”

She was about to protest then saw the wisdom in his advice. She needed to be knocked out. So she brought the glass to her lips again, swallowing in one gulp. She slammed it on the counter, trembling as the column of fire in her throat shot right up to her head. Right between the eyeballs to be precise.

_“Fucking Seven.”_

“You want another?”

“No. That’s enough.” Wincing, she opened her eyes and looked at him. “Why were you apologizing? Like, just now?”

“The pie,” Jaime said, sliding a brief glance over it. “I didn’t. . .I didn’t know it would make you cry.”

Her eyes watered again but this time, all she could do was stare sadly at the dessert. Nothing like it would be made by Selwyn anymore. Chocolate cream pie represented all that was happy and good in her childhood. There was no way she could look or even think of the dessert without heartbreak.

And Jaime had made it exactly as Selwyn did. From the generous fluff of cream to the curled chocolate shavings crowning it. She shook her head.

“No. No, Jaime, you had nothing to do with it. And it’s. . .it’s a nice gesture. My dad used to make this for me,” she explained. “It’s my—it’s my favorite food of all time. So, don’t be sorry, Jaime. I think. . .this is great. Thank you.”

It really was a great gesture. When she slid her gaze to Jaime, he didn’t hide his relief. He was really worried about possibly offending her.

“We should eat it, don’t you think?” She suggested, taking hold of the fork. “Do you mind. . .can we just eat it right off the plate?”

“You want me to join you?” Jaime was puzzled.

She sighed and readied the fork. “If it’s just me, I don’t think I’ll eat it and I hate food to go to waste. And I do love it, Jaime. But. . .but if it’s not too much to ask, I’d like for you to join me.”

Jaime stared at her, a slight frown on his handsome face before nodding. “No, it’s. . .it’s not a lot to ask of anyone, Brienne. Thanks. I’ll go get a fork.”

“I’ll do it,” she said, scrambling to her feet. She put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re my guest. Sit down.” Her cheeks pinked as she noticed the large, wet stain on the front of his shirt and tie. “It’s the least I can do for ruining your shirt.”

He smiled a little and sat down. Brienne went to fetch a fork and another glass from the cupboard. From the fridge, she retrieved a carton of milk.

As she walked to Jaime, it suddenly occurred to her that she’d never had Renly over like this. He had slept over many times, of course. But for the life of her she couldn’t remember if they ever shared a meal together here. Fucking. That was all they seemed to do. Fuck and have a meal in fancy restaurant. Or a weekend getaway with lots of fucking.

Right now, she was about to share a meal with a man who was a total stranger. She had met Jaime before. Several times. She couldn’t remember exactly when she first met him or pinpoint a specific moment they had met over the years but he was familiar to her. Though his face was never clear, there was an outline of it in the fringes of memory.

An odd thing, to not really remember his face. But she did remember the hair. Thick golden blond, with waves on top. He used to wear it shorter but now he was going for the shaggy look. It looked good on him, as well as the thick but trimmed scruff framing his face and the soft lines at the corners of his eyes.

This time she was sure there was no forgetting him. Renly was handsome. Jaime Lannister’s face was crafted with the utmost care by the gods. It was a face that she would bet her last money in the bank had _literally_ been crafted by divine hands. The elegant arch of his brows, his aquiline nose, firm lips and a jawline that called to be immortalized on marble had the Seven written all over it. The green of his eyes was not just the usual green but emerald. His high cheekbones and his eyes tilting up at the corners suggested a feline look.

She had always thought he was Selwyn’s age but that was not the case at all. With his god-like good looks and gym-honed body, he could be anywhere from thirty-five to forty-five. As Brienne returned to her seat, she couldn’t help but think that if the patisserie somehow snagged a feature in a magazine, Jaime’s face should be front and center. A face like that behind chocolate desserts—female customers would cram the shop salivating over him.

“Thank you,” Jaime said as she handed him a fork. Brienne put the plate between them and stared at it.

“Are you okay?” He asked a moment later, since she continued to just stare.

“Yeah.” She straightened her shoulders and poured milk in a glass, pushing it to him. Then she poised her fork over the pie. “I hope I will be. Someday. Let’s dig in?”

“Ladies first.”

She pushed the fork into the silken fluff until hitting the firm shell of the crust. She scooped up a piece, her lips closing around the generous sliver. A gentle but determined sweetness spread on her tongue, complemented by the dark chocolate shavings and the cookie crust. Her eyes closed and she found herself back in the old kitchen of her childhood.

Walls the color of a blush. Pale blue and white tiles. A chipped, wooden dining table. A worn wicker chair. The pie broke into tiny pieces in her mouth as she chewed, filling her mouth. Bit by bit, the broken pieces made their way down her throat, spreading the sweetness there.

She did not realize a tear had fallen from her eyes until she opened them. And Jaime wiping it away with the pad of his thumb.

“It’s good,” she whispered, to reassure him. “It’s exactly like how dad used to make it.”

“I’m glad. It’s the first thing he taught me,” he said, his hand remaining on her cheek before falling from it. He took a piece of the pie with a fork. “Do you know how we met?”

Brienne watched him eat, noting the small bite he took and the quick, economical way he chewed. Helping herself to more, she said, “No, not really. Dad never told me.”

A smile touched his face. It was remarkable. He had a beautiful smile—big, deep dimples, and in his eyes a warmth that she surmised was quite rare in his assessing stare.

“I broke in the pastry shop he was working at then,” he said, watching as she ate. “Was going to help myself with the cash at the counter—I staked out the place for a few weeks until I knew when they went to the bank to deposit the money. I made the mistake of breaking in on the day your dad got stuck because of the snow.”

“Oh my God. I was around fourteen then. I remember. He called and told me to stay with our neighbor then because he couldn’t get out.” She frowned. “Did you threaten my dad?”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone so no weapon. It was your dad who threatened me. Told me he’d have me arrested before I made it to the next corner. You know him—big guy, big voice.” His tone softened. “I was angry at the world. Felt like I was dealt with the shittiest cards. If my dad wasn’t beating me up because he was drunk again, I was being shuffled from one foster home to the next. And getting in trouble. I aged out and the first thing I did was try to steal from your dad.”

Brienne felt sorry for him but knew this was the last thing Jaime wanted from her.

“It was enough to put the fear of the gods in me. I was eighteen. An adult. It was jail time for me and Selwyn wasn’t one to fuck with me—”

“No. He’s not like that.”

“So. . .I returned the money. And he said he had a job for me if I wanted it. I worked my way up from being dishwasher to his assistant. The chocolate cream pie was his test. I’d like to say the rest is history but what happened after that is better told another time.”

“Maybe someday you’ll tell me,” Brienne said quietly. She could see Selwyn looming over a terrified, younger Jaime. Her dear, sweet dad. He never used his size and powerful voice to bully or hurt. Rather it was to scare someone into doing the right thing.

Jaime nodded and forked a piece off the pie. “Maybe I will.”

They ate without speaking another word for a while. Brienne was glad. Her jaw hurt from expressing thanks for condolences, as well as her neck for nodding at every good memory of Selwyn shared by his friends. The cool dessert was a relief to her mouth. A sweet, liquid dream, she thought, watching Jaime finish an entire glass of milk in one, long swallow.

She broke the silence asking him about the platter of canapes.

It was an innocent question but Jaime squirmed in his seat.

“I know Selwyn’s not my dad, but he was the first person in my life who was good to me,” he explained. Eyeing the roasted grape and goat’s cheese, bourbon pork belly bites and polenta and fig bites, he continued, “I thought. . .he deserved better canapes. I apologize.”

Brienne shrugged. “Don’t. I wasn’t really thinking. I just called the service, picked a menu and that’s it. Can I try one?”

“Please.”

She picked the bourbon pork belly, holding it between her fingers as she put it in her mouth. She sighed as spices flooded her mouth. “It’s delicious,” she told him. “Did you make this?”

“No. It’s from a gourmet shop a block from where I work. I’m friends with the owner so I can get away with quick orders like this without having to call ahead.”

She liked the meat but craved sweetness right now. She went on to eat more of the pie, as did Jaime. He didn’t seem interested in the canapes. Maybe like her, he craved sugar and chocolate too.

They ate until half the pie was finished. They looked at each other. Brienne couldn’t help but smile when her eyes fell on Jaime’s lip. A dot of cream hung at the corner of his lip..

“You have a bit. . .here” she said, tapping her own spot.

“Oh.” He tried getting it but missed the spot. She chuckled and raised a hand.

“Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.”

She leaned in, swiped her thumb on the spot. His beard had a bristly, thick texture. Her eyes happened to meet his then and her thumb slowed. It touched the indentation of his skin, right where his dimple was, then the corner of his jaw. It was a strong, powerful line.

He stared back at her.

He was holding his breath.

“Uh. . .” she murmured, flushing. She should drop her hand, but it refused to leave his face.

She was both embarrassed and confused, staggered by what she wanted to do yet wanting to see it through. She stood up too quickly, the stool crashing to floor. She would have turned to right it, but Jaime’s hand closed around hers. Pressed it to his face.

That was enough to know.

It seemed to take a long time before their lips brushed. It was a press more than a kiss, just getting acquainted with the texture of his lips, feeling the bristles of his beard piercing her chin. It was Jaime who tilted his head then opened his mouth ever so slightly, catching one of her lips, then the other. She sighed and kissed him back, her hand firming on his jaw and forcing his head up. The kiss deepened.

Despite the newness, the strangeness of what was happening, there was no thundering of her heartbeat in her ears. Just warmth. Like a cloak falling over her, and another wave spreading in her throat, down her chest and further. They tasted each other, finding chocolate and sugar on tongue and lips. He tasted of milk too.

As their tongues delved deep in mouths to taste more, his hands closed around her waist, pulling her closer until she was riding his thigh. His lips freed her mouth to travel down the long line of her neck. She continued to hold him, closing her eyes and whimpering softly as he pulled the bottom of her of her blouse from under the waistband of her skirt. She quivered from his calloused palms on her back, at the pads of fingers that traced her spine. She sucked his tongue firmly in her mouth, keeping his head between her palms.

Suddenly, Jaime shot to his feet, knocking the stool to the floor. He pressed her against the counter, his mouth returning to hers in a kiss that was crushing and hungry. She clung to him, pushing his jacket down his arms. He was hard all over. Warm skin over firm, lean muscles. He smelled of gentle musk and vanilla, tasted of milk and sugar. Wholesome flavors that summed up to a quite sinful indulgence.

She gasped as Jaime suddenly lifted her on the counter. He stepped between her legs, looking up at her. Now her heart skipped a beat as she looked in his eyes. They were brilliant, fiery orbs, sharp with his clear desire for her yet also soft. There was a yearning too. But not solely for her. Something else. Something that beyond her.

A blush bloomed from her cheeks as he opened her blouse button by button. She saw the corner of his lips quirk into a smile when he discovered her naked tits under it. He slid the blouse off her, nuzzled the wide valley between her tight nipples before taking one of them between his lips. Her sigh was long, followed by a husky moan as she took his hand to play with her other nipple. She rocked against his mouth, whimpering from the scrape of his beard.

Because she was tall and being perched on the counter made her more so, he once again had to tip his head up high just to kiss her back on the mouth. He was on tiptoes and couldn’t keep standing on them for long because she kept moving against him. He growled, settled for covering her neck with kisses, cupping her tits and warming her nipples in his mouth until they peaked into tight points. He urged her to lie on her back on the counter.

Through half-closed eyes, she stared at the light fixtures on the ceiling, turning away from the glare. As Jaime pushed her skirt up over her thighs until they gathered at her waist, her eyes were riveted by the pie.

The cream had collapsed. The chocolate shavings melted, sinking in the decorative white peaks. Jaime’s breath washed between her thighs, followed by a murmur that seemed a curse, or an endearment or both. She bit her lip, trying to stop the sob rising from her again as she stared at the pie.

“Jaime,” she whispered, turning away. She swallowed watching his golden hair between her thighs, closed her eyes as his bearded lips brushed her slit. Her hands swept to her face, trying to stop another bout of tears but failing to muffle the sob that escaped her at last. “Jaime, please stop.”

*******  
As soon as Jaime heard the gushing water stop, his head swiveled in the direction of the bedroom. He listened to some shuffling sounds, imagining her face pressed on a towel. He pressed his palms on his trousers, frowning as they fell on something sticky and warm.

 _Brienne._ When she had rubbed against him through their kiss. Seven above, he thought disbelievingly, staring at the darker patch on his thigh. A few kisses got her _that_ wet?

A moment later, she emerged from behind the wall. He stood up, worried over how wan she looked. Her eyes were red and swollen.

She didn’t look like she hated him.

He should have known better than giving her the slightest encouragement. He was not attracted to her in any way but when she cried earlier, he had panicked. He never knew what to do with when a woman was like that. So he held her. Let her cry it out, ruin his shirt. It was a small price to pay and it helped her.

Then she asked him to join her eat the pie. The wise decision should have been to leave as soon as she seemed okay, but she looked so broken and pathetic. Even when it wasn’t his fault that she’d cried over the pastry, he still felt responsible. _This was Selwyn’s daughter_. Selwyn had been there for him in the darkest days of his life. The least he could do was be there for his daughter. And he wanted to be.

He just couldn’t figure out why he didn’t stop her from kissing him. She was miserable. Grieving. Comfort fucking was great. He knew he could definitely make her forget about the passing of her dear old man. He was ready to imagine another woman, a thousand times more beautiful, when they first kissed. Her thick-lipped, big mouth was the softest, plumpest he had kissed. It didn’t take much effort to keep kissing her just for that.

And she was warm. Giving. Most women he’d kissed seemed all about the finish line. Brienne seemed the type who could spend a rainy afternoon just kissing under a blanket. Fondling and kissing, he thought, remembering her tits. Her nipples. _God_ s. He had never seen aureoles so pink and nipples that plump. And she had really tiny tits. Rises of flesh rather than bumps or even swells.

She was still wearing the skirt but had now thrown a baggy gray sweater over it. He couldn’t help but notice she still had her stockings. And the garter belt too, most likely.

He licked his lips, flushing at discovering some of her flavor had lingered there. Her panties had been white and damp, a translucent patch of fabric adhering to her cunt.

That vision was going to stalk him in dreams for a while. During the waking hours too.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, looking at her helplessly.

She shook her head, crossing her arms. “No. I’m sorry, Jaime. I shouldn’t have. . .I took advantage.”

He frowned. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” she insisted. Her fingers swept through her hair, messing it up further. “You came here to be kind. You’ve done nothing but be kind. And I—I took advantage. So really, I should be the one apologizing. You were only trying to help. I’m so sorry. I’m not. . .” She sighed, grunting under her breath. “I’m not like this. I’m not myself.”

His gaze was sympathetic. “You shouldn’t apologize. . .Brienne, nobody is herself when you’ve lost someone you love.”

“I took advantage,” she said stubbornly.

“It’s not like I wasn’t totally giving you the advantage,” he pointed out.

She managed a weak smile. “See? You’re kind.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” he had to tell her. “You don’t know me that well.”

“I suppose. But my dad trusted you. That’s enough for me.” As she spoke, she glanced at the kitchen. Noticing the empty counter, she gave him a curious look. He shrugged.

“I needed something to do after. . .” he began to explain before the words died. How was he going to end that? I needed to clean up to kill my boner?

Red spread across her cheeks, getting his meaning. “Oh. Thanks.”

They stared at each other. Jaime knew he should leave. Head for the door. No doubt Brienne wouldn’t stop him, but those eyes. They were sad, beautiful things.

“I should go,” he began. “But will you be okay? Because maybe. . .I can stay until you sleep. Or maybe you should call your friends. . .?”

“I was tired earlier,” she admitted. “But I don’t know if I can sleep now. And I don’t have any sleeping pills.”

“Sometimes, I walk when I can’t sleep. Care to join me?”

“But you’re leaving.”

“Which entails me walking.”

“You’re going home.”

“You can walk me home and I’ll call a cab for you. Or we can just go wherever we want. What do you say?”

She looked around then back at him. “I really don’t want to be here now.”

“Do you want to go to your friend? Or a hotel?”

She laughed. He looked at her. “What’s so funny?”

“No. Nothing’s funny. It’s just that the idea of a staying in a hotel for a few days sounds lovely. But I just left my job. I can’t be accumulating more credit card debt until I find one. Oh, gods,” she suddenly exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “Do you know that within ten minutes of finding out my boyfriend fucked me over I got the call about my Dad? And now I’m jobless. I’m an orphan.”

Jaime honestly did not know what to say. It went without saying Brienne Tarth was having the worst week of her life.

“I’m sorry,” she said, getting hold of herself. “I’m not having a pity party here. It’s just that it’s all sunk in just now.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t be alone right now,” Jaime said.

She nodded. “I don’t think so either.”

“Walk with me then,” he repeated. “Let’s go have a drink. Or get you something to eat. Have you been eating?”

Brienne looked towards the kitchen again then him. “I had the pie,” she answered slowly.

“That’s not a meal.”

“I’m not really hungry. But I was hungry when I had pie.”

 _That you were_ , Jaime thought before he could stop himself. She had kissed him like she ate. With unabashed hunger. He loosened his tie.

Suddenly, Brienne’s swollen eyes brightened. Jaime was oddly fascinated by the remarkable change. She was not smiling but her entire face had lit up. Blotchy as it was, the shine from her eyes promised the shroud of despondency would be lifted eventually.

“Will you take me to the shop? The patisserie?”

*******  
Because Selwyn was only a silent partner in The Sapphire Patisserie, he never worked there. Brienne knew of the shop and had walked past it a few times when she was in this part of the city. She looked up and down the street, barely paying attention to Jaime as he unlocked the rolling steel doors.

It was only ten in the evening but most of the shops were already closed. As they should be, she thought, realizing that on this block, the businesses were mainly gift shops, boutiques, a giant toy store chain, bookstores. She crossed the street as Jaime went to unlock the glass doors next. She spied a bar at the corner. Right across from it was a wine shop. Several apartment buildings, then a gourmet deli. Next to it was an adult store.

“Right. Let’s go,” Jaime said.

Brienne turned and entered The Sapphire Patisserie. The space was small, with only four tables. Jaime followed her inside, glancing at her as she took in the glass display that would hold desserts once the shop was open for business tomorrow. The wall was plain white, the only decoration the name of the shop in blue block letters. Right below it was an industrial-sized coffee machine with many buttons. On an opposite wall was framed magazine and newspaper articles that had featured the shop.

“The floor needs fixing,” Jaime muttered, flattening a linoleum tile that had flipped. He stepped on it a few times. “And the place could use some updating but there’s hardly a budget for it.”

He sounded embarrassed and annoyed. Brienne could understand that. Clean as the place was, it had a worn, sad air. She touched one of the mismatched chairs.

“They’re cute. Not fussy or too serious, if you know what I mean,” she told Jaime.

He visibly puffed up at that. “Found them in garage sales myself.”

Brienne went to the counter and plucked a menu from the holder. As a cost-cutting move, it was merely a print-out and put on a clipboard. She cocked an eyebrow at the use of Comic Sans font. She looked up, peering critically at the photos of the cakes and other confections the place was known for flanked by lists of food and their prices.

“You don’t have chocolate cream pie,” she remarked, looking at Jaime.

Jaime shrugged. “We have pies now and then, but we’re strictly cakes and cupcakes, muffins.”

“Too bad. You make a very delicious pie.”

He smiled. “Learned it from the best.”

That was moving to know. “He was. Thank you for saying that.”

“It’s the truth,” Jaime said, going behind the counter and resting his elbows on top of the glass display to look at her. “I shouldn’t ask, but what do you think of the place? You’re in advertising, right? Selwyn told me.”

“Was,” she corrected, flushing. Gods, what a shit week this was. Alone in the world and jobless. There was nothing in her life she could be safely tethered to. She returned the menu and continued looking around.

“Nah, you’ll be back there before you know it. I think I read about you in a profile a while back. Like you were this rainmaker for your company. Spectral or Specter or something like it?”

“Spectrum.” Some of the linoleum was cracked or gone, baring the gray cement floor.

“I’m sure better agencies want you on their team. You’re singular,” he said, drawing her eyes to him in surprise. Unaware of how his words touched her, he went on. “You hardly see advertising people in the news unless maybe if they fuck up. But the one I read wrote you that you’re the person behind several award-winning print ads.”

“But I still wasn’t good enough for some people,’ she admitted after a moment, remembering what Renly told her about Randyll.

“Go where people appreciate you or at least where you can call the shots, then.”

“Wouldn’t that be great,” she murmured. Looking at the doorway behind him, she asked, “Can I see the kitchen?”

“Sure. Come on.”

Jaime flicked on the light as she followed him. Immediately, she was greeted with the lovely aroma of vanilla and sugar. She suddenly felt warm—too warm, despite the absence of heat. She watched Jaime precede her, noticing for the first time that in this small space, he stood straighter. It was clear he wished the shop was in a better condition, but he was clearly proud of it. And the kitchen was a source of this pride.

Though small, it was outfitted with the latest modern equipment. No bulky, rusted appliance. Only sleek pieces like the glass oven that boasted of multiple shelves to enable plenty and efficient baking, and then three more ovens mounted to the wall. The counters gleamed liquid silver in the light.

“This is great,” she told him sincerely. “You must love working here.”

He gave a little nod, running a hand briefly across the counter. “I do. The Sapphire Patisserie can’t compete with the big-name shops but it’s mine. Knowing that makes it a lot easier to get up in the morning.”

“What’s the first thing you do when you come here?”

He chuckled. “I’d tell you, but I’ll have to kill you.”

She grinned. “It’s dangerous?”

“Fatal,” he whispered theatrically. “In how boring it is.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” she encouraged him. “I loved listening to my dad puttering around the kitchen. And every time I looked at him there was this. . .contentment on his face. He wasn’t ecstatic all the time, but he had no problem where he belonged.”

“I belonged to no one and nowhere until Selwyn. He saved me. More than once. Gave me the direction I needed. Never in my life did I think I’d end up in a kitchen and liking it,” he said, looking around. Brienne thought he looked beautiful even in the harsh fluorescent light. The soft expression on his face emphasized his gods-sculpted, elegant looks.

She wouldn’t mind licking chocolate off those cheeks.

_What on earth?_

As a searing blush swept from her forehead down to her chest, Brienne raised the collar of her jacket in a pathetic attempt to hide her face. Luckily, Jaime was unaware of the direction of her thoughts. It shouldn’t be surprising, she justified to herself. They made out just a while ago. _He had his tongue on her pussy._

Spying a stool, she quickly pulled it toward the counter and sat down. She crossed her legs.

“Do you really want to hear how boring it is?” He asked, smirking.

“I’ve lived far more dangerously.”

“It’s only your life, then.”

“Do your worst, Jaime.”

“Fine.” He stretched his arms forward, clasping his hands then rubbed the palms together. He walked around the kitchen as he spoke, gesturing the equipment, opening cupboards to emphasize a point. He was straightforward, no frills, no fluff in talking about waking up at five in the morning for the sugar and flour deliveries, that the supplier was skimping on the quality chocolate. He spoke about examining the fruits that on, how he made sure they were fresh and plump.

When he finished, he leaning on the counter, a hand propped on a hip, ankle crossed over the other. “I won’t bore you anymore with the saga of endless invoices and battling it out with the software tracking expenses. But that’s how it is daily. Beginning at five.”

“It’s always you?” She asked. “No one else?”

He shrugged. “I don’t feel right without having everything go through me first.”

“That’s difficult.”

“The things I do for love.”

It should sound silly but coming from Jaime, it was honest. Even pure. Brienne got up and put the stool back against the wall. “I wish I’d feel like that about something someday.”

“You have to like advertising,” he pointed out. “You’re good at it.”

“Maybe I got lucky. Maybe I’ve been working with shitty people that’s why I seem so good,” she said, spreading her palms in a helpless gesture. “I enjoy it, make no mistake. But I hope I can be as dedicated as you are someday. To do things the way you do for love.” She looked around.

“Yeah, I wish somebody loves this place like I do,” he told her. “People say a job is just that, a job. A source of income. And you need a life outside of it. But it hasn’t been like that for me. My life is _my_ job. It’s not just a meal ticket for me. It’s who I am. The kitchen is home and when a place doesn’t smell like vanilla or sugar, it’s not right to me.”

“I don’t know how advertising smells.”

“Expensive cologne that says we’re crap, and we’ll only feel better if we buy shit?”

She laughed. “Maybe. Except I don’t wear cologne. Or perfume. Maybe I reek of desperation.”

“No, you don’t.” He told her. 

They looked at each other for a few moments. It was on the tip of Brienne’s tongue to thank him and say goodbye when she blurted out something entirely different.

“Jaime, what do you think about my working here?”


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s no one like me, Jaime.”  
> “Really. You want to work here out of the goodness of your heart?”  
> “Do you really think I have an agenda besides my need to help?”   
> “Everyone has an agenda. Name your price and then I’ll think about hiring you. You want to buy me out? Hire your own people? Fire me and put someone else who can fucking work in the kitchen and also do market research? Don’t give me this bullshit about needing you, Brienne. Everyone wants something in return.”  
> “All I want is for my Dad to never have regrets about believing in you.”  
> “What do you care? He’s dead!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, a chapter just writes itself!

A week went after Selwyn’s funeral and Brienne’s surprise offer. Life returned to normal for Jaime. Or as normal as it could be, laced with grief.

It left him sleepless most nights, leaving him yawning hugely and struggling to remain on his feet at the crack of dawn. It was habit more than attention that had him ensuring he got the preferred flour and sugar, the right kind of powdered sugar. That the fruits delivered were the freshest of the season.

He yawned through the morning meetings preceding the day-long work of baking. Daily patisserie staples were croissants, eclairs, cupcakes and pralines and their famous apple cake. Tarts changed by the season, because of the fruit, as well as their pies. The latter was slow-moving so those were often reserved only for advanced orders. In these meetings, Jaime informed his staff about upcoming orders, the products he would like them to push on customers, and every now and then, cautioning his kitchen people about the ingredients used. He never liked scrimping on them but sometimes, things like syrup went by faster than usual.

Once the first batch of pastries were out front, Jaime huddled in front of the computer tracking their supplies and going through paperwork that never failed to give him headaches: bills just days from being marked red like electricity and water, insurance, repairs done to an oven, the wiring an electrician had checked. Payroll. It was also left to him to settle disputes between staff, should it happen, and orientation when there was someone new. 

Jaime was the first one in and the last one out. After counting and recording the day’s profits, witnessed by Shae, who manned the register, he locked it up in a safety deposit box. Only he knew the combination. Twice a week he deposited the money in the bank.

Jaime was looking at the expenditure spreadsheet for the dessert expo one afternoon when a knock came to the door. He looked up and was startled to see Margaery peeking in.

“Hey,” he said faintly, pushing his chair back as she let herself in. Unfortunately the wall was right behind him. The office was the size of a small closet, with just enough room for one person to sit and another to stand up. Margaery smiled, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she settled on the space between the printer and the edge of the desk.

Unbidden, Jaime’s thoughts wandered to Brienne. How someone of her size could fit in this tight space.

“Hey, stranger,” Margaery’s greeting yanked him from thought on the blond. She kissed him on the lips. He closed the laptop as she pulled away. “I’ve missed you. You haven’t called.”

“Busy,” he answered. It was the truth.

Normally, he would charm and flirt his way out of failing to call her. He enjoyed fucking Margaery and knew she felt the same. He made clear from the beginning she was never going to get more from him besides cock. Sometimes she seemed to understand. On certain days, she behaved like they were a couple.

“You know, when I see pie these days, I think of you,” she told him playfully, her brown eyes sparkling. “But I do prefer seeing you.”

Her hand traveled from his wrist then up the length of his arm, towards his jaw. He caught her hand, lacing his fingers through it. It looked like he was holding her hand. The truth was he didn’t want her touching him any more than she already was.

“That’s a nice thought,” he managed to say, summoning a smile that he hoped was at least friendly.

“They’re selling really well at the restaurant. I thought you’d want to know in person.”

“Now I know,” he said, gripping her hand. She was trying to touch him some more. Sighing, he stood up. Her other hand went for his fly and he grabbed it too.

She looked at him curiously. “What’s the matter?”

“Marge. . .” he began. “We’re at work.”

She beamed. “And. . .?”

He looked at the door pointedly then her. She giggled. “I’m sure your staff is already thinking we’re doing it. So we might as well.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m not wearing panties.”

His mind was not too thrilled with her presence, but his cock was. He could fuck her and be done with it. Clasp a hand over her small mouth. It was easy. Then she’d be out of his hair.

He was fucking nearly every woman connected with the supply side of The Sapphire Patisserie. It was tricky territory already. But fucking right where he worked was where he drew a hard line. He kept his affairs discreet even when no one in his staff would bat an eyelash.

“Listen, I’m slammed today and I’m doing the payroll now,” he lied, trying to sound regretful. Fucking would be good now. He knew. Fucking was the best way to forget problems.

A pout made her prettier. “Okay, but promise you’ll call later?”

“I don’t know. . .”

He had to do this right. He knew her best in bed and nothing else. Just as easily as he was able to convince her to let him be the dessert supplier for her café with smiles and servings of cock, denying her those things could fuck the patisserie’s revenue. And he needed every dragon to pay the debt. He was nowhere near half.

“How’s Thursday?” He asked. He pulled her close then, his lips a kiss away from her mouth. “I’ll come over. And I’ll make you come and come. . .”

“That sounds promising. I’ll hold you to it, chef.”

Margaery kissed him then got off the desk. She waved goodbye and let herself out.

Jaime waited a few minutes before going out. Once back in the kitchen, he looked at the kitchen staff. He employed five, three to help with the baking and two with the dishwashing. All of them shared cleaning duties.

He stood there, watching them for only a few moments where one by one they turned to look at him. He looked each in the eye before speaking.

“Who allowed her in the kitchen?” He demanded. “No one except employees are allowed here during work hours.”

Jon Snow, Edd Tollett, Robin Arryn and Theon Greyjoy looked at each other. At that very moment, the door swung open from the back of the shop. Olyvar sauntered in, smelling thickly of cigarettes.

Jaime cocked an eyebrow. “Where’ve you been?”

“Though I could take a break, chef,” Olyvar answered, quickly pulling the door closed. Noticing the tension in the room, he asked, “What’s going on?”

“Did you let Margaery Tyrell in the kitchen?”

“Yeah. Shae was just going to get you but she insisted. I was there so I gave her the go-ahead.”

Jaime didn’t know whether to give the younger man a shake or slap him. “You’re fired.”

Olyvar burst out laughing then saw the seriousness on Jaime’s face. “What? Chef, you’re kidding right—”

“You do not let anyone who’s not an employee in the kitchen of The Sapphire Patisserie without _my_ permission,” Jaime thundered. “We’re not just fucking making food here, you idiot. There’s fire. There are slippery floors despite the rubber mats. We have to keep things clean. Don’t you realize that had there been a surprise inspection we could be shut down for what you did? Or what if something happened to her? Who do you think could get sued? Whose insurance will pay?”

“But she said you know each other and I’ve seen you with her—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter! Get out of here before I punch you. Get your things. Get out of my sight.”

Olyvar looked like he was going to defend himself some more but thought better. He pulled off his hairnet and untied his apron. Jaime went to the office, grabbed his backpack from under the desk and shoved it in his hands. Olyvar shook his head at him and stormed away. The door shut behind him with a loud bang.

“Fucking dolt,” Jaime muttered. He turned to return to office when the door from the dining area opened. Shae peeked in.

“Um, there’s someone looking for you,” she said, her eyes widening at the disgruntled look he sent her. “She says it’s urgent?”

“Who the fuck is it?”

*******  
Because every table of the shop was occupied, there was nowhere else for Brienne to stand but by the display. She straightened her long, plaid blazer, checked for any unfortunate creases on her blouse. Maybe she should have worn slacks instead of jeans. Stilettos rather than loafers.

But it was too late now.

Just as she’d managed to convince herself she needed to have her head examined, the door opened and Jaime stepped out. She blinked, startled. Gone was the sympathetic, smiling man who had let her cry on his shirt. He pulled the hairnet off, freeing tousled blond hair. His beard had grown thicker but was still trimmed.

The man looked immaculate in white. She was tempted to shield her eyes from the glare of his double-breasted shirt. His pants were a black-and-white houndstooth pattern. He wore bright red clogs. Somehow, he didn’t look ridiculous.

In fact he looked formidable. Powerful. Like a king, if that made sense. Brienne prayed to the Seven that one of her infamous blushes didn’t kill her now.

He approached her, his eyes giving her a quick head-to-toe scan. His gaze was cool. Her heart heat sank. There was really none of the man from her apartment. The one who had been kind. The one who had kissed her, whose mouth had brought sweet fire between her legs for too brief a moment.

_Fucking hells, Brienne. You shouldn’t be thinking of that now. Or ever._

“Brienne.” His tone was clipped.

She couldn’t be hurt from his formal tone. Her offer to work with him had changed everything brewing between them in a snap. He had all but shoved her in a cab. Wisely, she decided not to call or badger him until she had something in her arsenal.

“Jaime,” she said, clearing her throat. “I’m sorry. I should have called first.”

“Now’s a good time as any as long as it’s short. How can I help you?”

She clutched her bag. “I hope to have a word with you.”

He crossed his arms.

“In private.”

He seemed to hesitate then relented. He sighed. “Follow me. Watch your step. The floor could be slippery. Shae,” he told the small, dark-haired woman trying to discreetly sneak back to the cash register. “Call the agency for Olyvar’s replacement.”

Jaime pushed open the door and didn’t wait for Brienne to follow him. She had to put her palm up to stop it from hitting her.

Four young men were working in the kitchen. They didn’t look at her, all of them busy mixing ingredients, putting food in the oven or decorating a pastry. Jaime held the door open to a tiny office this time.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing at the only chair in the room.

To get inside, she will have to practically walk through him. Jaime stood sideways so she had to do the same. Even then, there wasn’t much space to navigate. A traitorous blush colored her cheeks as her tits brushed his chest. When she thought she had enough space to turn and take the chair, a clasp from her bag snagged on Jaime’s shirt and yanked him with her.

They toppled toward the printer on the desk. Brienne slammed her palms on the desk and printer while Jaime, stuck to her bag, fell against her back.

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry!” She gasped, trying to turn and look at him. The motion instead caused Jaime to be moved around. “Jaime?”

“Stop moving,” he ordered. He was now on top of her. She froze. Besides feeling every muscle and contour of his body despite the clothes, she could smell him. He smelled like warm pastries.

She breathed the scent of him deeply before she could stop herself.

“You have to remove the bag,” he said, his breath warming her nape. “What the hell’s in it that it’s dragging me like a rag doll? Rocks?”

“Of course not! Just my laptop and other things. Hold on.” Brienne lowered the strap, but it didn’t budge. Jaime sighed loudly.

“I think I should take off my shirt.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Her blush deepened feeling Jaime’s hands working right behind her. “It’s a loose thread from my shirt. Shirt stays on,” he explained. “Somehow it got wrapped around the clasp. Do you see the scissors? Should be in a can by the laptop.”

“I see it.” She had to stretch her arm a little but got it. She handed it to Jaime. A snip then he was free.

“Sorry about that,” she murmured, still facing away from him. He moved, his thighs rubbing against her ass. She waited until he was standing right next to her before moving away from the desk. He put the scissors back in the cannister while leaning awkwardly over the only chair in the room.

“We survived,” he said, giving her a quick smile. Its warmth touched his eyes for a moment before he dropped it. Brienne transferred her bag to the other shoulder.

“Right. I offered you a seat.” Jaime pushed it toward her then gestured she sit down. She blushed.

The office was the tightest space she had been in. It was a claustrophobic nightmare, what with the shelves crammed with file folders, the narrow desk that held only a laptop then the printer, which also functioned as a scanner and a fax. To sit on the chair, she would have to climb over it. Or squeeze between it and the wall then sit down.

Someone who was a lot shorter than six-foot-three and a size two would have no trouble. Brienne was neither.

Jaime, realizing what his gentlemanly gesture entailed, flushed. He sent her an apologetic look and pulled the chair back to him. Then he moved, aiming for the spot where she stood. This time they were face to face, her tits once again pressed to his chest.

“Take care with the bag,” he said, his hands on her waist guiding her. She nodded and eventually made her way to the chair. Her shaking legs thanked her as she finally sat down.

“Well,” he drawled, standing by the door. He was smirking now. “That was some journey.”

“Minus the jet lag,” she said, putting the bag on her lap.

“So what brings you here? Are you going to make me another crazy offer?”

So he remembered. Good. “It’s not crazy,” Brienne said, unzipping the bag. “It actually makes a lot of sense.”

She reached inside and withdrew some papers then a folder. Jaime took them. “What’s this?”

“You should know. It’s the deed of partnership. It says right there how you divided the shares. Dad was the silent partner but he owned fifty-one percent. Yours is forty-nine.”

Jaime frowned and looked inside a folder. “And what’s this?”

“Your quarterly financials beginning from when you first opened The Sapphire Patisserie until the latest.” Brienne kept her expression stoic as the frown in his face faltered upon seeing the dwindling figures. “Jaime, why didn’t you tell my Dad?”

He put the deed inside with the reports and handed them back to her. “Look, a good restaurant has at best five years before it closes. And every investment takes at least three years before you get any meaningful return.”

“Is that why you haven’t paid off any bank loan these past few months? Jaime, you have three months to pay off everything. My dad was co-signee of that loan. If you don’t pay, I get fucked too.”

“I’m sorry about it, okay?” She shot him a withering look and he immediately looked contrite. “I know it does nothing. But I’ve honestly tried everything. I’ve cut down products and just focused on food we can sell without any trouble. I thought joining the desert expo last week would help but I only got two clients and effectively flushed money down the toilet.”

He looked pissed. Brienne had no reason to doubt but it was still wildly careless of him to not inform her dad. Or her.

“Unless some fucking angel comes forward with the money to pay off my debts, you’re right. I lose the shop. And you lose—”

“ _We lose everything_. I had to sell the house I grew up in for Dad’s medical expenses and there’s hardly any left over.”

The first time she found out about the loan and how much revenue the shop was losing, she nearly had a panic attack. Now that she was partner, that meant any property in Selwyn’s name was now hers. That and along with capital she had acquired independently were going tits up unless the debt was settled. Last year she just finished paying for her apartment. Now it looked like she will have to sell it to save all she had of her Dad. Because his fucking partner had in effect just put his head under the sand and tried to will away the problem.

“Did you know about this when you made me the offer last week?” Jaime asked.

“No. And you should have told me. If not at the funeral then as soon as possible.”

His shoulders sank. “I’m sorry.”

“Unless that can help the bank extend the deadline, just. . .stop. But now you have no choice but to take me.”

“Brienne, I just fired a guy. Granted, he was shit. He was stupid. But at least with one less guy in the payroll that’s a few more dragons I can use into paying off the debt. You’re this advertising whiz kid. Why aren’t you going to another agency?”

Brienne bit her lip and decided to tell him the truth. “No one wants to hire me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Look, this is my problem. You don’t have to get involved. I mean, you are. But I did this. Let me find a solution. You take care of yourself, not this dump.”

“No one wants me because I’m overqualified, okay? I’m too old, too experienced, too known to suddenly revert to being junior copywriter. I refuse to take a pay cut. I can branch out on my own but given this debt that’s now in my name too, there’s no bank that would grant me a loan!”

She hated this. That because of a circumstance beyond her control, her future was now tied to Jaime’s.

They glared at each other, like two knights in the battlefield. Brienne knew she should have seen him as soon as she found out about the situation. But she believed in being prepared. Jaime had surprised her by calling the shop a dump when just a week ago he was talking about it like it was the great love of his life.

She was right. As desperate as Jaime was, he would refuse to cede territory, so to speak. He had forty-nine to her fifty-one, but the shop was still his. He hired the people. He was their boss. They did what he told.

“You need me,” she said in a low voice.

“You have the money?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t need you.”

“Yes you do. I have the skills. I looked at the business plan from before and I can’t believe you got the loan. It was my Dad’s good credit rating that helped you. I don’t know why my Dad believed in you. Maybe you’re right in not telling him what happened. He wouldn’t have just been disappointed. This would hurt him, Jaime.”

“You do like to kick a man when he’s down, don’t you?”

“I didn’t bring you down, Jaime.” She stood up and put her bag on the chair. “You need me.”

“What exactly can you do?” He was sarcastic. “Can you cook?”

“Yes, but not bake—”

“Do you know what it means to plump cherries?”

As angry as she was, her nipples tightened. “No—”

“Then I don’t need you.”

“Do you know that in this block alone are five law offices, two gaming companies, three international corporate headquarters of fashion brands, four apartment buildings in which sixty percent of residents are parents to children in primary school? And the Kingsland headquarters of Hightower Insurance?”

“Why should I know these things?”

“Because that’s your fucking market, Jaime. You’ve been here for five years yet you’ve not taken advantage of the market right at your doorstep. I didn’t see any catering services offered by you. No business has a credit line to the shop—what meeting, after all, can not use some cheer in the form of a cupcake? Or an employee who has a birthday? Or kids!” Brienne threw up his hands. “There are only two coffee shops in this block, one a pretentious hipster shithole serving beverage in fucking clay pots, and the other with cinnamon rolls harder than a brick. Yet they’re making a killing every fucking week!”

“Fine,” he snapped. “So you’re great at research. Thank you. I’ll be sure to make note of that.”

“I don’t want you to make note of it! I want you to do something!”

“Which is what? Hire you? You just told me even your fancy advertising people find you overqualified. You won’t take a fucking pay cut. I’m not exactly rolling in dough here, Brienne. I can’t afford you. I _want_ to need you. I want to have the means to need you. But nothing is for free, is there? Unless that’s alright with you?” He laughed bitterly. “You’re all just the same.”

Puzzled and hurt that he was lumping her with everyone else—whoever they were, all she could say was, “There’s no one like me, Jaime.”

“Really. You want to work here out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Do you really think I have an agenda besides my need to help?” She demanded. People could be cynical. But Jaime, she was finding out, had zero faith in everyone.

“ _Everyone_ has an agenda. Name your price and then I’ll think about hiring you. You want to buy me out? Hire your own people? Fire me and put someone else who can fucking work in the kitchen and also do market research? Don’t give me this bullshit about needing you, Brienne. Everyone wants something in return.”

“All I want is for my Dad to never have regrets about believing in you.”

“What do you care?” Jaime shot back. “He’s dead!”

The blood drained from Brienne’s face. Jaime looked appalled too.

“Well,” she managed to say, looking away from Jaime lest she burst into tears. “I think I should go.”

She got her bag and stood up. But Jaime suddenly blocked her with his hand on the wall.

“I’m leaving,” she hissed.

“Brienne—” he looked pained. “That was unworthy of me. Forgive me.”

She shook her head. Her eyes glittered from tears. If she didn’t get out of here in the next breath she was going to lose it. Jaime was never going to make her cry. No man was going to make her cry. Except for Selwyn, all of them were shits.

“Don’t you mock me,” she spoke through gritted teeth.

“I’m apologizing,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to fight. Not with you. Let’s call a truce.”

“You need trust to have a truce.”

*******  
How had anyone resisted those incredible, expressive sapphire eyes? Jaime wondered as Brienne looked at him. They conveyed hurt, anger and betrayal. He was a gods damned piece of shit for what he’d said to her.

“You don’t know me well,” she continued. “But my Dad had the right to know. He trusted you. He expected as much.”

Jaime hung his head. Maybe his old man was right. He was born a disappointment.

“I was ashamed,” he admitted, risking looking in her eyes. Fuck those. He hoped to the Seven she didn’t cry or he would lose it. Brienne Tarth was a brainy potty mouth and boy, did she know how to wield them. He had gone from shocked to amazed within seconds. But the most destructive were her eyes. She was not much to look at but the blue orbs were truly astonishing. Anyone who put pain in them deserved the cruelest punishment.

“Selwyn had given me so much. Helped me off the streets. Gave me a job. He also made it possible for me to get into culinary school. He loaned me the tuition, everything. I paid back every dragon. I thought that was it but. . .he never stopped believing in me.” He removed his hand from the wall and gestured loosely around. “And look how I repaid him in the end.”

“Dad was the only person in my life who pushed me to go after my dreams. He was the only one. So it doesn’t surprise me that he believed so much in you, Jaime. You’re feeling ashamed. Good. You should be. But it’s not too late.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have no idea how to pay off a debt that big in three months. Not unless I get a windfall. Or someone leaves a bag of gold.”

“You need a miracle,” she said. “I don’t bring miracles.”

He stared at her. Her eyes still had the suspicious sheen—thanks to him—but on her face was the look of someone who refused to take shit from anyone. She had a soft heart for her dad and steel for everyone else. She was unbending. Unbreakable.

The kind of person you wanted on your side when shit hit the fan. Her eyes alone could probably deflect every force working against them.

“I don’t know what happened for you to think I have an agenda in offering my help. I’m not one to judge. But I would think my dad had enough influence on you to still have some faith in people. That’s what I thought, anyway.”

She was not going to like one bit what had happened, and what he’d done to ensure the patisserie remained afloat. His employees talked about it and he didn’t care. They knew if he heard with his own ears how they talked about him and his dealing they were fired. But if Brienne were around. . .and one of them talked to her—

Maybe she could understand. She did make a similar mistake a while back, he thought, remembering what she’d told him last week. She’d only had one truly awful week in her entire life. Jaime had been having a shitty year. All he needed was some venereal disease and the bank calling on the loan the fucking circle was complete.

But it was not too late. He had asked for a truce. In exchange Brienne wanted trust. He had to trust she wasn’t going to castrate him or worse if she found out just exactly what he’d been doing for the shop. Sure, it was hard work. The problem was despite his efforts, there was hardly any worthy return. He could barely keep the women’s names as it is.

“I need help,” he admitted. The words were slow to leave his lips. “Maybe I do need you.”

Expecting a smug, know-it-all look, Brienne surprised him with a slow shake of her head. She looked away and headed for the door.

“Brienne, I’m sorry.”

She turned back. “I know. I believe you. I want to help, Jaime. I do. I want to work with you. But either you’re all in for me to be here. Not ‘maybe I need you.’”

Women, he thought, exasperated. “You want me to beg, is that it?”

_“No.”_

“Then what? I just agreed that I need you. What more do you want?”

“Respect,” she declared. “Trust.”

“I respect you, believe it or not. But I need proof that I can trust you.”

“Finally.” Brienne marched back to the desk, once again turning sideways. Jaime held his breath her chest brushed against his. She smelled like spring—fresh, young and pure. She put her bag on the desk then unzipped it. Pulling out her laptop, she said, “For the record, what I’m going to do is try to earn your trust. But you should have told me what was happening here instead of having me find out about it.”

She was right. Though he had wanted to do all the legwork required in saving the shop, he should have told her. In his mind were a thousand reasons why he didn’t—her dad just died, he was looking for the right time, he didn’t know how. All valid. All he knew she would understand. But the damage was done. Now she knew, through her own efforts.

“I _am_ sorry,” he insisted. If that meant something, it was all he had. “But I was doing the best I could. I did this. It’s my own mess.”

Brienne opened the laptop and paused. “’I can understand that. Wanting to deal with your own mess. I know how it is to be alone. And to struggle with trust.” 

“What do you have there?” He asked as she hit a key in the laptop and called up a file.

“My advertising proposal for The Sapphire Patisserie,” she answered. “If you believe in what I can do, then I’m on board, Jaime.”

He knew passion when he saw it and she had it in spades. He wished he could regain even some of that. “But I can’t pay you, Brienne.”

“Let me show you what I can do first. Then you decide. And once you do we’ll take it one step at a time. We’ll determine my fee once we’ve paid all debts. Are you ready?”

He nodded and Brienne immediately launched her presentation.

Jaime had no trouble figuring out a recipe, haggling for prices, and everything involved in running a kitchen. His weakness was in the practical, business side of things. Wrestling with the POS system, for example. Expense reports. Tracking supplies. Eventually he figured it all out but there was still the nagging feeling he was doing something wrong.

A lot of food had been cut from the original menu, which meant printing new menus with fewer items. The cost cutting hurt the shop. Though the items removed were the least popular, customers still wanted options. Favorites changed, especially these days when some food blogger raved about unicorn-inspired food and everyone hopped on wanting unicorn milkshakes, cupcakes, cakes, everything. Jaime absolutely refused to be a slave to trends. Classic desserts were classics for a reason. They were timeless and there were always people who loved them. Loyal as they were to favorites, the palate did crave something new occasionally.

Brienne’s presented a very detailed plan, delivered in a language and manner Jaime easily understood. She emphasized the importance of branding, how it was _the_ calling card of any business. She revisited her research on the shop’s location but expanded it to a five-block radius. Jaime was impressed with the map she included, as well as a chart that identified the specific business, the industries they fell under and the age brackets they catered to. She emphasized the importance of his taking advantage of being the only patisserie within five blocks.

Next, she identified the ways they could drum up revenue. Jaime didn’t know how she got her hands on the shop’s finances. She agreed with the trimmed menu but questioned about eradicating some items completely. Because of the high percentage of parents with young, school-aged children, she thought he should offer specialty cakes.

“You mean cakes for children’s parties? Come on, Brienne,” he complained. “Any kitchen dabbler can bake a fucking cake. I went to school and researched on various techniques of making the best pastries.”

“But you can offer upgraded birthday cakes. Theme cakes. Or cakes with special frosting like strawberry.”

“Upgraded birthday cakes?”

“Yeah. The cake you know but made even better. Think luxury.”

“A children’s birthday cake?” He scoffed. “Why would a seven-year-old care if I use chocolate from Braavos as opposed to any other chocolate?”

She put a hand on her hip and gave him a look. “I don’t know. But it’s odd hearing pushback from a guy who’d hang himself first before using vanilla extract instead of beans.”

He decided to shut up and told her to proceed.

“From my observance of your shop—” she continued.

“Excuse me? _When_ did you do that?”

She blushed. “A few days ago. I hung out across the street to observe.”

“Stalker.”

“I was doing market research,” she said defensively. “May I continue?”

“Go ahead.”

“You have high foot traffic in the morning and then in the middle of the afternoon. In sum, that’s just four hours out of twelve hours of operation that you earn, and not a lot. You have tables and chairs and today they’re full. Of course they would be. They’re too few.”

Jaime held up a hand. “As much as I’d like more tables and chairs, there’s no space within the shop. The next option is the sidewalk. Besides the fifty-dragon application fee, for the permit I’d have to pay over three hundred fifty per table. That’s money I don’t want to spend right now.”

“Then you’ll have to remove the service option and just strictly sell pastries.”

“But you just said I have significant foot traffic—high foot traffic for four hours and I think it’s because people can be served pastries.”

“Yes. But it’s not enough. Not to mention that the more people there are, the more liable you can be for any accident. I suggest removing tables and chairs for now. I’m sorry, Jaime. But if you hire me and I have your okay, that’s one of the first things I’d do. Either people are fighting for a table or we just remove them.”

Jaime, about to let her continue again, paused as he realized something else. “What do you mean removing the tables is one of the first things you’d do? What’s the first thing?”

Brienne looked at her shoes then him. “Look, why don’t I talk about reminding the community of your presence first—”

“Is that the first thing?” He demanded.

Another wave of crimson swept through her cheeks. Jaime didn’t know whether to be charmed or infuriated.

“We should let people know you’re here. Jaime, people in the next block don’t even know about the shop—”

“What’s the first thing you’d do? If I hire you?”

She rolled her eyes. “I like the badgering and the forcefulness. You’re like a lion. Where the fuck does that go when talking about debts?”

“Brienne,” he said, drawing out her name. “You have to tell me the first thing you’d do.”

“Or what? Look, we know you’re hiring me, Jaime. Why else would you let me talk my head off? My tits are practically non-existent.”

Yes, but she had big, wafer-pink nipples. Jaime’s jaw tightened as he felt himself stir. “I respect you, Brienne. Whether you have bodacious boobs or not. Come on,” he pressed. “What’s the first thing you’d do _when_ I hire you?”

Brienne took a deep breath.

“I’d suggest that you close for a few days.”

_“What the fuck for?”_

Unperturbed by his roar, she began ticking off her fingers. “Your walls need a fresh coat of paint. The linoleum tiles need to be replaced. They’re an accident waiting to happen. We have to get rid of the tables and chairs, sell them if we can. And the branding, Jaime. That means a new logo, colors, uniforms. Maybe even a catchphrase. And re-orienting employees about the new branding. You will also have to get rid of one more employee.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaime said, feeling like he’d been hit on the head. “Do I have to remind you that the shop is losing money? And now you want to fucking close and spend for paint and uniforms? That doesn’t make sense.”

“But to make money you have to spend money,” she protested.

“No.” He was firm. “I will not allow it.”

Two days later, The Sapphire Patisserie hung a sign announcing it was closed due to renovations.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You take a shower and I’ll make sure you put the antiseptic.”  
> “How do you propose to do that?”  
> He grinned. “Well, being that you’re taking a shower and I—”  
> “Jaime,” she said through gritted teeth.  
> “What? I can scrub your back.”  
> “Do me a favor and just throw me against the wall? Please? I beg you.”  
> “Brienne Tarth! You wench, you. I didn’t know you like it rough.”

Getting rid of Olyvar had been necessary, though Jaime took no pleasure in it. He never liked having to fire anyone even when deserved.

The young kitchen assistant sitting before him was far from efficient. Robin Arryn worked three jobs to send himself to school, on top of taking care of a mother prone to fits of depression where leaving her alone could be dangerous. As a result, Robin was often absent, forcing other staff to cover for him. And when he was at work, he was distracted. Twice Jaime had spoken to him about it.

There was still no improvement.

So as much as he’d like for Robin to keep his job, he had to be merciless for the sake of the shop.

Jaime looked at him, alert for the possibility of Robin lashing out or hurling something at him. The latter’s long, thin face mirrored disbelief before it laxed into something like resignation.

“I knew this was going to happen at some point,” he said, looking at his hands on his lap.

“This probably isn’t the kind of job you should be doing,” Jaime said. “The hours are long. You need to work at something that doesn’t require much focus.”

Robin shrugged. “Dishwashing isn’t.”

“Not when it’s what you have to do your entire shift.” Jaime extended his hand. “I wish you luck, Robin.”

Robin stared at his hand then shook it. He took the envelope containing his last paycheck. “Thanks for this.”

The door closed behind him. Jaime let out a long, heavy sigh and sat back.

The day had taken a lot more out of him than expected.

The last two days had him stuck in the office signing paychecks for the employees as well as their suppliers. Sugar and flour had to be paid for every two weeks—an arrangement Jaime had personally requested. Their fruit supplier had to be paid every week but because the shop would be closed for a while, he had to cancel future orders in the meantime. He also forwarded payment to the utility companies to prevent service interruption.

“Spend money to make money,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. Shit had yet to be done to fix up the shop and he was losing money _yet again._

It was too late to renege on this new partnership with Brienne. Her presentation had forced him to face a lot of hard, painful truths about the shop, and his lack of skills as a businessman. Pride nearly won and it had been on his lips to refuse her, as he had done that night following Selwyn’s funeral. The Sapphire Patisserie was his responsibility after all, a symbol of Selwyn’s trust in him.

And what had he done? Ran it to the ground. _You put your trust in the wrong guy, Selwyn._

His father was right all along. He was a good-for-nothing _disappointment._

Jaime went out of the office, pushing the swinging door leading to the shop itself. The cash register was covered in cloth, the chairs placed on top of the tables. It seemed another lifetime ago when he used to walk past this place and dreamed of making his own sugary concoctions.

He had been so young then. King of the world. Selwyn had been executive chef at The Golden Stag by the time Jaime finished culinary school. After years of working as a line cook in several restaurants, Selwyn called him up to fill in the position of pâtissier at The Golden Stag.

Working in a hotel was grueling, back-breaking work. Though Selwyn was a kind but firm boss, Jaime itched to have a kitchen of his own. He loved pastries—his teachers in school sang endless praises about the things he did with sugar and flour. He had won several prestigious baking contests by the time he started working in The Golden Stag. When he finally made the decision to go out on his own, Selwyn not only looked at him with pride—he also offered to invest.

Jaime had wanted to refuse. Besides steering him on the straight path, Selwyn also loaned him the money to enroll in school. He paid that off gradually. But the old man had been insistent, practically ordering him to take the money. For that, Jaime offered him a partnership as well as controlling share. It was the least he could do. And as much as he hated it, he needed the money. His father’s cancer treatment had left him in serious debt and no bank wanted to grant him the necessary loan. It was Selwyn who made everything possible.

All he’d asked from Jaime in return was to name the shop The Sapphire Patisserie. Sapphire was his daughter’s childhood nickname, he revealed. And as she grew older, she had asked him to stop calling her so. There was no question to how much Selwyn loved his child. His blue eyes shone and his smile lit up the room when talking about her. The way he spoke about Brienne, it seemed she was a magical child.

Hard as it was for Jaime to listen to him talk about her, he did. If only to have a glimpse of how life could have been different if his father wasn’t a drunk. If his father actually cared for him. If anyone had cared for him before Selwyn Tarth. 

_And look what I’ve done_ , Jaime thought, looking around the shop. His chest tightened as he looked at the framed display of a newspaper article that had featured him. It was from years ago. _Kingslayer Slays in Westeros Grand Sugar Battle Again_ went the headline. Selwyn had been in the crowd cheering him on, he remembered.

Through the glass of the frame, Jaime caught his reflection. A man in his forties in need of a haircut. With a blank, empty stare. He had gone from concocting elaborate, award-winning bombes to baking croissants and cupcakes six days a week, from sunrise to sunset.

He switched off the lights. His head and body felt heavy, as if about to come down with fever. He shuffled to the kitchen, checking for anything left on or flammable. He looked in the cold storage to take a quick inventory of the food stored there. A box of eggs had been left by the door. He rolled his eyes, remembering that it was Robin who had been tasked to store them. One careless step and that was several weeks’ supply of eggs crushed and wasted.

Jaime cleared a shelf to put cartons of eggs on. As he worked, he remembered something Brienne had said.

_“But you can offer upgraded birthday cakes. Theme cakes. Or cakes with special frosting like strawberry.”_

_“Upgraded birthday cakes?”_

_“Yeah. The cake you know but made even better. Think luxury.”_

Frowning, Jaime stared at the shelf now half-full of egg cartons. He took one and flipped it open. _Luxury._ Eggs were his favorite baking ingredient. It was the foundation of pastries. This humble, accessible animal product was the most versatile ingredient in his opinion. There was no one in the world who couldn’t cook an egg. The laziest can manage a halfway decent sunny side-up. A foodie could make a heavenly frittata or a bake a cake.

An egg, for someone like him, represented boundless possibilities.

Jaime closed the lid and took the eggs to the kitchen.

********  
“Are you sure with what you’re doing?”

Before Brienne could answer Ellaria, the elevator doors opened. They stepped out into the hallway, with Brienne leading the way to the apartment at the corner.

“It’s what Dad would have done,” she answered, reaching in her bag for the keys and unlocking the door. Ellaria stood next to her, listening to the doorknob click open. Instead of Brienne pushing the door open, she just stared at it.

She was mentally and physically exhausted from convincing Jaime to close the shop. The man had been as stubborn as a mule. She understood why he was being defensive. But did he have to make her work so hard to see things her way? Still, she had grudging respect for the man who was unfazed about her having more legal rights The Sapphire Patisserie.

When he finally agreed to hire her, he emphasized he was only going to consider the changes she suggested. At least she got something. The renovations would have begun right away if not for Jaime asking for a few days to ensure employees got their pay in advance rather than waiting for the shop to resume operations. He also needed time to go over her proposals and make his own suggestions.

Restless rather than triumphant, Brienne decided now was the time to go to Selwyn’s and sort through his belongings.

“Brienne? Are you okay?”

Brienne tore her eyes from the door to look at her. “It’s the first time I’m going there since he died.”

“You mean. . .like you never went there to get him a suit. . .anything? For the funeral?”

She shook her head, biting her lip. “I couldn’t. I got him a new one. Shoes too.”

“But what about the papers regarding the shop?”

“The lawyer came to me.” She looked at the door again, her heart racing fast. When she pushed a hand through her hair, it felt clammy. “Shit. This is harder than I thought.”

“Maybe now’s not the time,” Ellaria said gently. “Or. . .I can do it? You only have to ask.”

“Thanks.” Brienne squeezed her hand. Ellaria started from how cold her hand felt. “Sorry.”

“Take as much time as you need.” She held on her arm. “We don’t have to go today. Seven, Brienne. You have to be up early tomorrow to see Jaime. You shouldn’t be rushing through this.”

“I—I thought I could do it in batches.” Brienne shrugged helplessly. “I mean, there’s so much to pack. Like, which of his clothes do I keep, what do I give away? And what about his other things? There’s no way to do it in one day. It’s a process. And I might as well start.” She grasped the doorknob and took a deep breath. “Here we go.”

The door squeaked open. Her heart tightened painfully at the familiar sound. That sound promised that Selwyn was just on the other side of the door.

Once the door was fully open, she clutched the doorknob. Ellaria stroked her on the back, murmuring something soothing. Brienne reached for her hand, forgetting how unpleasant hers felt. Together, they walked into the apartment.

Immediately, her nose picked up the crisp, soapy scent that had been Selwyn’s aftershave. The tightness in her chest expanded to her throat as she turned to the living room.

She half expected Selwyn to be there. Selwyn his white hair combed neatly to the side, blue eyes looking up from a book as she entered the room. Ellaria squeezed her arm as she stared at the empty leather armchair that he used to sit on.

“What will I do with this chair?”

“If you like it, keep it. If not, sell it?”

Brienne went to the chair and touched it. Old as the chair was, the leather remained soft and supple.

“I think I’ll keep it.” She looked at Ellaria. “Is that the right thing to do?”

“Sweetheart, what matters right now is what you want, not what’s right or wrong. What do you want?”

Running her palm on its firm arm, she whispered, “I’ll take it.”

Ellaria kissed her on the cheek. “Alright. Where next?”

If seeing the empty chair had been difficult, Brienne came close to destroyed once they were standing in the bedroom. _He never woke up again._

Ellaria too looked close to tears staring at the mussed sheets and the pillows that still bore the indentation of the last person to sleep there. Brienne’s hand flew to her mouth. The bedside tables were crammed with his favorite books—spy novels, recipes, non-fiction reading about the food world, picture frames.

“Sweetheart,” Ellaria said, rubbing her arm and hugging her on the side. “Listen to me,” she put a hand on her cheek, urging her to look at her. “Why don’t you go get something to drink while I take care of the bed, alright?”

Brienne nodded, her eyes dropping to her shoes. “Yeah. Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Go on. And then when you come back, we’ll do the clothes. Then we leave. We come back next time, okay?”

“Okay.”

Hand on her heart, Brienne hurried out of the room. She composed herself in the hallway, hearing Ellaria’s own quiet sobs and the rustle of linen and cotton as she fixed the bed. She wiped the cuff of her coat sleeve around her face then went to the kitchen.

She draped her coat on a chair and looked in the cupboard. Selwyn hardly drank kept a bottle of bourbon there. For her.

She pulled the half-full bottle from the cupboard, twisting off the cover. She took a quick swig, grimacing from the burn. The next one wasn’t so bad. Then she put it back in the cupboard and looked around the kitchen.

Because it had been close to two weeks since anyone had been here, she could only imagine what possible monstrosities were in the fridge. She tackled the vegetable crisper first. As expected, she found yellowing cabbage and broccoli, wilted lettuce. She looked in the cabinet under the sink for garbage bags and resumed emptying the fridge of perishables.

Ellaria, concerned that she hadn’t returned, checked on her eventually. She stood by the doorway as Brienne furiously scrubbed food storage containers. A large garbage bag was at her feet.

“Everything okay?”

“Sorry,” Brienne said, noticing her. “I was just going to remove the vegetables then empty the milk and juice but. . .” She gestured at the open door of the fridge. It was nearly empty.

“No problem,” Ellaria assured her, crossing her arms. “Do you need help? I got some of his clothes but it’s no rush.”

Brienne sighed and peeked in the freezer. “He has some chicken wings here. And fish.”

“Throw them away,” she suggested. “Unless shelters are okay with raw food?”

“Dad would have cooked them,” she said. Sad as she was with being here, she found comfort in the memory of being told to clean food off her plate. He hated it when food was wasted. “Are you hungry?”

Ellaria hesitated then shrugged. “Well. . .if you’re cooking, I can help?”

For the first time since arriving, Brienne cracked a smile. “It’s okay. I can do chicken wings. My dad must have some breading here that I can use for the fillets. If he doesn’t, I can figure something out.”

“I’ll take this,” Ellaria picked up the garbage bag. “And continue with his clothes, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.” When Ellaria was by the door, Brienne called her. “Ellaria? Thank you so much.”

She smiled and blew her a kiss. “For you, Brienne, always.”

While Ellaria wrestled with the garbage chute, Brienne pulled out the chicken wings and salmon fillets from the freezer. Selwyn ate more vegetables than meat because of his cancer but could never resist chicken wings.

Because a chef’s work required long, demanding hours, Brienne was often alone at home. But Selwyn made up for it during weekends. Cooking was his great passion, although he made it clear that the great loves of his life were his wife and daughter. So on weekends when father and daughter hung out, he taught her how to cook.

Brienne knew how to cook dishes as complicated as beef stew but had little patience for baking—a fact that never failed to amuse Selwyn. She could follow a recipe but most of the time, went off-book, so to speak, and did her own thing. Selwyn himself said that only amateurs followed recipes. A real cook cooked by instinct and knew the secret alchemy of which spices worked best with certain meats and left room for unbridled imagination.

She preheated the oven while defrosting the fish and chicken wings in the microwave. Once she found a pan big enough to hold the fillets, she sprayed it with oil, piled it with lemons, butter and other spices. She covered the salmon fillet with spices, put them in the pan and into the oven.

While this was going on, the chicken wings were boiling in the pot. She found a can of beer in the fridge and some eggs. In a deep glass dish, she whisked eggs and beer. From the cupboard, she pulled out packages of flour, baking soda and some seasonings. She mixed them in a separate bowl before it in the egg and beer marinade.

Soon, the kitchen was redolent with the aromas of butter and spices. Brienne set the table using the fancy porcelain plates and delicate crystal Selwyn reserved for special occasions. She poured beer in the glasses, enjoying a little laugh. Selwyn had taught her which goblets were appropriate for certain wines, not beer! The beer-battered chicken wings and baked salmon were placed on heavy crystal containers.

She didn’t have to call Ellaria into the kitchen. The delicious smells lured her, and when she saw what Brienne had done with the food, couldn’t stop herself from applauding.

“If I wasn’t straight, I’d be in love with you,” she declared.

“Thanks,” Brienne said. “Come on. Come eat.”

Ellaria amused her with loud moans in between bites of the chicken and the salmon. Brienne refilled her glass with beer and helped herself to more food.

“Selwyn taught you this?” Ellaria asked, sucking the grease from her thumb.

“The basics of cooking and some dishes,” Brienne said before biting into the chicken. “But mostly, I experiment.”

Ellaria looked at her thoughtfully then sipped her beer. “Brienne, I’m going to ask this again, okay? Don’t be mad. But are you really sure with what you’re doing? About the patisserie?”

Brienne took several bites of the salmon before answering her. It was a question she had asked herself once finding out it was in the red. Very deep, vivid red. Though jobless, she had more than enough money for the rainy day. She could buy out Jaime and sell the shop.

It was just right. And easy too. With the debts it had accumulated, Jaime was not in any position to refuse, let alone make a counteroffer. Maybe it was naivete, or misguided loyalty to the memory of her dad, but she wasn’t comfortable swooping in and kicking Jaime out. She had done that to an extent by basically badgering him into letting her work and fix it up but at least he still had a say. He still had a job.

And if Selwyn were still alive, he would help Jaime however he can.

“I know next to nothing about the food business,” she began, looking at the food on her plate before turning her eyes on her friend. “But my dad believed in this guy. And you should hear him talk about the shop, Ellaria. It’s like. . .it’s tied to him. It’s not just work to him. He may suck as a businessman but he’s passionate and dedicated.”

“Yeah but why not just get his shares? Jaime Lannister is still quite known in the food world. He’ll land on his feet. You don’t have to worry about putting him out of a job.”

Brienne hid the sudden warmth overwhelming her face at the mention of Jaime being ‘quite known.’ A quick online search showed that not too long ago, he was the god of the culinary world. There were also rumors, rumors she found too ridiculous to consider having any legs. His personal life didn’t concern her.

“It’s not that. I told you.” Brienne shrugged. “I don’t know how else to explain it. He’s backed into a corner, but this guy is going to fight. Dirty if he must. With everything he has.”

“Well, that’s admirable. It can also be easily foolish.”

“Ellaria, I miss dad. Terribly.” Her voice broke. “And besides a few mementos, photographs and memories, there’s nothing much I have of him. The patisserie is part of him, and I can’t walk away just because things are bad there. I don’t. . .I can’t give up and just let it fail. For his sake, I can’t.”

No two men could be more different but something about Jaime reminded her of Selwyn. She could not forget how his eyes had softened when he talked about things done for love. It should be corny. Archaic. Jaime Lannister didn’t seem the guy who had any room for corny or fluff in his life, unless the latter meant pastry toppings. But the way he said it, and how he spoke of it in connection to the shop. . .it had been refreshingly honest. Harking back to a time when idealism was celebrated, and wildest dreams encouraged.

After dinner, they cleaned up the kitchen. Brienne joined Ellaria at the bedroom, holding her hand as she looked at the pile of clothes neatly folded on the bed.

“I sorted them, like, according to suits, then shirts, t-shirts. . .” Ellaria’s voice trailed off as Brienne let go and walked toward the pile.

She picked up one of the folded sweaters. It was a deep, rich blue. A present for Selwyn three years ago. She picked it up, pressing her face against the wool. It smelled of him. He had loved it.

“I’ll get more garbage bags,” she whispered, still holding the sweater. “But I’m keeping this.”

They packed his clothes quietly. In total, it filled up four large garbage bags. They were loaded in the back of Ellaria’s car. Brienne searched her phone for the closest all-hours donation drop-off and directed her there.

“You want to crash at my place?” Ellaria asked after they dropped off the clothes. “We can do face masks. And each other’s nails.”

“That sounds nice. But I’m meeting Jaime early tomorrow morning.”

Ellaria soon pulled up in front of her building. They kissed on the cheek and hugged. Brienne held her tightly. “Thank you for being there.”

“You’re welcome. And good luck tomorrow. If Jaime has half a brain he’ll agree with the changes you have to make.”

Brienne flushed as she pulled away. “I could have been gentler about it,” she confessed.

“Oh, please. He’s a grown man.”

Brienne stepped out of the car and waved goodbye. She waited until Ellaria’s car disappeared around the corner before climbing up the stairs to the apartment. As she looked in her purse for the keys, she heard a car pull up, followed by a door slamming.

“Brienne?”

Startled, her purse fell and rolled down the stairs, spilling its contents on every step. Packages of gum, tissue, her make-up case, phone and keys scattered. She cried out and went after the purse, which was still falling on an endless set of steps.

In a dumb and futile move, her arm flung out to halt it, and her ankle turned in the process. She heard Jaime cry out.

But her humiliation was far from over. As the cursed tote tumbled down the last steps, it regurgitated a strip of condoms right at Jaime’s feet.

  
********  
“Jaime. _Jaime_ , come on, I’m alright!” Brienne protested, trying to wrestle her face from his grip.

“Will you stay still and let me look at you?” He demanded, his own eyes mirroring her glare.

The twin lines between her pale eyebrows deepened and her sapphire eyes flashed, giving away what she intended to do next. Jaime acted swiftly by taking her face in both hands, to show he meant business. _Finally_ she remained still.

“I didn’t hit my head,” she grumbled as he leaned close, his fingers feeling around her head for bumps or worse, cuts. The texture of her hair was rough. His fingers moved through the fluff to her forehead, scanning her face apple-red face carefully for any marks besides the dirt smeared on one cheek and a streak right at the line of her chin. Seven hells, how could he distinguish marks of injury from her fucking freckles?

“Does your neck hurt?”

“Are you a chiropractor?”

_“Brienne.”_

“No. I told you, I didn’t hit my head. It’s my pride more than any part of me that’s hurt, embarrassed and just wants to curl up and die.”

Her tumble down the stairs had been nothing short of horrific to watch. Jaime hated how all he was able to do was hold his package. Her coat was stained, and the knee of her jeans had ripped, revealing a gash.

His hands moved down her arms to look at her own hands. Dirty and scraped too, as well as the insides of her wrists. All in all nothing serious but panic lingered.

“Can you stand up?” He asked, holding her hands. Hers were bigger.

Shooting him a look of defiance, she got on her feet. “Nothing hurts?” He continued, still holding her.

Her face turned redder. “I’m fine, Jaime. It’s nice of you to be concerned but I took a little fall that’s all.”

A little fall. What a fucking understatement. Brienne pulled her hands away and turned to pick up her bag. She had been more concerned shoving stuff back inside instead of stopping and being examined, as he’d demanded a few times before she relented. Jaime picked up his package from the step she had been sitting on, drawing her eyes on it.

“What do you have there?”

“Can you make it to the stairs?” He asked rather than answering her. What if he hadn’t thought to drop by? It was a little past nine in the evening. There were still people around. But this was Kingsland. You could pass out on the street and no one would care.

She sighed. “I’m fine, Jaime. Look, I’ll show you.”

She marched up the stairs with no trouble, although Jaime noticed she was trying to discreetly rub her hip. It was probably bruised. Rather than admit to the pain, she was climbing stairs. _Stupid stubborn wench._

“See?” She said, turning back to him once at the top of the stairs. “I told you I’m alright.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” he answered as he went up. “You have a first-aid kit, don’t you?”

“Seriously?”

When he glared back at her sternly, she flushed again and went to unlock the door. She pushed the keys back inside the bag, clutching it to her chest. He followed her inside the building.

In the hallway light of the apartment lobby, Brienne looked like she’d been in a fight. Messy hair. The dirt on her face. That scowl. She looked uglier yet it was an effort to look away. Probably because it looked like she had been fucking in the dirt.

“You’re not going to walk me up to my apartment, are you?” She demanded. It meant another flight of stairs. Jaime looked at them.

“You got lucky with the stairs just now. Who’s to say the floor won’t collapse under you next?” He joked. It was more for his benefit than hers. Brienne was being an idiot but she didn’t see what he saw. Yes, she didn’t bash her head. But she came close. Real close.

“Hahaha.” She mocked and took the first few steps up before suddenly groaning.

“What the fuck is it?” He growled.

“Nothing that will kill me,” she snapped, giving him a warning look before resuming the climb. He followed her, seeing her rummaging in the bag again. Because she wasn’t looking inside, she couldn’t really find whatever it was she was looking for. By the time they were standing in front of her door, she was attacking her bag. Quite violently.

He raised an eyebrow. “Not too hard, wench.”

“Piss off.”

She dug in the bag some more, smirked at him and yanked out what turned out to be keys again. As well as the strip of condoms that somehow got caught in the keychain. Her hand flew to her mouth as the foil packets once again fell at his feet.

“Seven bloody hells!”

“Let me,” he said, bending to pick them up. She snatched them, shoved the strip back in the bag and unlocked the door. He followed her inside. He was smirking this time. “So, ribbed condoms, huh?”

“You know what, I wish I banged my head. Then I wouldn’t have to put up with this,” she complained, putting her bag on the console table and untying her coat.

“Believe me, wench, if you’d banged your head, I’d do everything in my power to wake you up. You can’t have me close the patisserie and just fucking abandon me.” He drawled, putting the box next to her bag. He unzipped his jacket. “Where’s you sense of honor?”

“Unbelievable,” she muttered. Despite her annoyance, she took his jacket and stashed it with her coat in the closet. She looked at the box. “What’s in there?”

“Something for you,” he answered. “Good thing I thought to swing by.”

“Right. Because if I remember right, if you hadn’t startled me, I wouldn’t be wearing city grime.”

“It’s oddly becoming on you,” he retorted before noticing the vivid blue sweater she was wearing. It was a couple of sizes too big. The shade looked fantastic on her. Dirt, pissed-off expression and all. “Blue is a good color on you. It goes well with your eyes.”

 _She does have astonishing eyes._ Jaime paused, realizing he’d just given her a compliment. Brienne looked surprised too. 

“It’s—it’s my Dad’s.” She whispered, looking down at it. “I—I was over at his place. Packing up his clothes.”

Jaime immediately felt awful for giving her a hard time. _I should have called first._ As strong as Brienne looked, she was fragile too. It almost made him want to hug her.

Almost. The wench was turning out to be very prickly. So he would just stay until she was alright. “That must have been difficult,” he managed to say. “How are you?”

She shrugged. “He’s still dead, like you said.”

Seven bloody hells. He really should watch what he said sometimes. Though she avoided his stare, he did see how hurt she was over what he’d said. What bruises and scrapes she had just collected were nothing to the wrenching pain of losing her dad. She brushed past him to get her bag.

“Where’s you first aid kit?” He asked.

“Jaime, I’m not bleeding.”

No. She wasn’t. But she was banged up inside and outside.

“Just because there’s no open wound doesn’t mean there’s no risk for infection,” he pointed out. “I work in the kitchen. Burns, scrapes, scratches, cuts—you name it, I’ve had it. And each is as serious as the other.” He crossed his arms and looked her in the eye. “Brienne. Once more, where’s your first aid kit?”

“In the bathroom. Look, I’ll just take a shower and put antiseptic on whatever scrape or cut I have, okay? Happy?”

“You take a shower and I’ll make sure you put the antiseptic.”

“How do you propose to do that?”

He grinned. “Well, being that you’re taking a shower and I—”

 _“Jaime,”_ she said through gritted teeth.

“What? I can scrub your back.”

“Do me a favor and just throw me against the wall? Please? I beg you.”

“Brienne Tarth!” He pretended to exclaim. “You wench, you. I didn’t know you like it rough.”

“Ugh!” She grunted, turning on her feet and stomping away.

“You’re being needlessly stubborn, wench. The gods know why I bother yet here I am, offering my services,” he called after her.

She whirled around to glare at him. “Wench, Jaime? _Really_?”

Well, she was pissed off. That had be to be a good sign. “Go have your shower. I’ll wait out here.” His dimples flashed as he smiled again. _“Wench.”_

Her eyes were murderous. “My name is Brienne, not wench.”

Then she turned on her heel again, hopefully to the bathroom. Jaime chuckled watching her go. Her jeans had split right in the middle of her ass, revealing a sliver of white panties. Did she wear any other color? He preferred black or red lingerie, but he was considering converting to white.

“Say, wench, do you mind if I help myself to some of your food? You do have food, don’t you?”

She answered by giving him the finger. He laughed and took the box to the kitchen.

He looked in her fridge, pleased to find it well-stocked with eggs, milk, vegetables and meat. He had initially pegged her as someone who ate disgusting microwave dinners. Since nothing in the fridge was ready-to-eat or required mere minutes in the oven, he assumed that Brienne must cook. Hells, she even had an assortment of fresh cheeses. Brie, camembert, a block of parmesan rather in a plastic cannister, and fresh mozzarella.

Jaime took the bread, fresh mozzarella, tomatoes and fresh basil leaves left over from a previous cooking session. He sliced the tomatoes thickly as well as the cheese. He was pleased to find she kept extra virgin oil and balsamic vinegar. _She does know how to cook._

He drizzled the liquids on one side of the bread and filled the other with the basil, tomato and mozzarella. He had just taken a couple of bites of the sandwich when Brienne shuffled back to the kitchen.

Damp hair combed back, face scrubbed clean, she looked fresh and smelled like an herb garden. She wore a heavy pink robe that didn’t do much for her complexion or eyes. Her t-shirt was threadbare from countless spins in the wash and he swore he could make out the freckles on her chest. Nipples too, he realized, clearing his throat. His jeans were suddenly way too tight. Her pajamas were pale blue with bears in top hats.

“Hi.” Her voice was small.

“I made sandwiches. Come join me,” he said, patting the stool next to him. He poured milk in a glass for her.

Her cheeks were once again the color of apples. Either she was embarrassed, in pain or only just a little mad at him. He watched her approach the stool, noticing how she favored her right hip. She sat down gingerly as he put a plate of the sandwich before her.

“I already ate, thanks,” she said, looking at it. “It looks good.”

“You look better. Do you feel better?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Jaime took another bite of the sandwich. He had a sweet tooth but also appreciated fresh, earthy flavors. Nothing came close to the perfection of tomato, basil and mozzarella. As he chewed, he teased her. “That must have been some dinner for you to turn down a sandwich this delicious.”

“I want to apologize,” she suddenly said. “I’m sorry. I was upset after going to my Dad’s apartment. It’s no excuse, though but I am sorry. I don’t blame you. In fact you were just trying to help.”

“I could have taken it down a notch,” he admitted. Putting the sandwich away, he looked at her. “I was scared. I saw you fall. . and I didn’t stop it.”

She looked puzzled. “How could you have known?”

“Are you really okay?” He told himself the reason he wanted to examine her again was to make sure. Not to see if her nipples were as pink as he remembered. “Let me see.”

“What?”

“I want to make sure you’re okay.”

When she saw he wasn’t going to relent, she pulled up the sleeve of her robe. One palm was scraped, as well as the wrist. They smelled of antiseptic. He picked up her wrist, inspecting it. “Does it hurt? Can you turn it?”

She did as he asked. “You’ll have a bruise tomorrow and it’s going to be tender for a few days,” he said, still holding it. His thumb stroked the fine, bluish veins under the pale, freckled skin. “What about your knee?”

“How did you know about that?”

“I saw the rip.”

Brienne started to bend then grimaced. Jaime was immediately out of the chair. “You hurt your back.”

“No, no. I didn’t. I promise,” she insisted. “It’s just that—”

And there it was again. Her cheeks once again the color of very ripe apples.

“What?” Seven hells but his heart was in his throat. He was about to pull her robe off when she spoke, her eyes wide.

“I have a bruise. On my—on my ass.”

Confused for a moment, he just stared at her then said, “Huh?”

She sighed, blushing even more. “I just told you. A bruise. On my ass.”

“Oh.” A beat later. “Can I see?”

“Of course not!”

He laughed. “I’m kidding. Although if you really want to—”

“I swear to the Seven I’m getting a headache right now,” she growled.

He patted her on the shoulder. “Just making sure you’re alright, wench.”

“My name,” she snapped, “is Brienne.”

“Suit yourself,” he drawled, sitting on the stool again. He gestured at her sandwich. “Come on, wench. You’re breaking my heart not eating that. It’s fucking great. There’s no better meal at the end of a long day than a sandwich.”

“Fine. If it will shut you up,” she said, taking a big bite. They looked at each other, his lips in a half-smile as she chewed. No elegance at all, this wench. She didn’t gobble up the food, but she ate pretty much how she kissed, he realized. With abandon. Bold, unashamed hunger. The defiance in her face softened as the fresh, earthy flavors of the sandwich got to her. It was a fucking vision. Almost sensual in how her eyes fell half-closed and her mouth opened to take another bite.

Jaime felt himself stir. “So? Not so terrible, is it?”

Her eyes sparkled. She looked almost beautiful. “No. It’s certainly edible.”

He laughed. “You’re not easy to please, are you?”

She blushed and just chewed. Then helped herself to milk. Even with the way she swallowed—no finesse. And he couldn’t look away.

She licked the milk off the top of her lips as she glanced at the box he’d brought. “Are you ever going to tell me what’s in that?”

“Ah,” he said, pleased with her relentless curiosity. It was fun to watch. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

Brienne, breaking off a piece from the sandwich to pop in her mouth, remarked, “Am I going to hate it?”

“Let’s hope not,” he said, feeling a frisson of anxiety sweep through him. He reached for the box but instead of opening it, put his hands over it. “But before I show it to you, maybe I should explain first. With the shop closed for renovations, I thought, well, why not do something new with the menu too? So, you can say you inspired me.”

Something like surprise then pure excitement lit up her face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, working on the deep blue ribbons holding the box closed. “I forget how fun it is to experiment.”

For the first time in years, he took pleasure in making something. He always enjoyed the creative process of baking, wowed despite his experience how simple ingredients, skill and knowledge resulted in something magical. He had felt proud. He had done something worthwhile.

He removed the ribbon and lifted the lid, presenting the dessert to Brienne. He smiled at her curious look, her eyes darting up at him for permission. He nodded and she reached inside. In her palm, she held a small cookie shaped between a kiss and swirl. It was nothing more than egg whites and sugar, now transformed into a delicate cookie.

“This is cute,” she marveled, smiling at him. She scooped another one from the box. “I like the colors too. White and very soft pink.” 

“I’m glad,” Jaime said. He could watch her smile and take pleasure like this for a long time. Her mouth opened and she bit into the cookie. She let out a squeal and took another bite.

“Seven, Jaime. It’s wonderful!” Her mouth closed around the pink one then she reached in the box again. Her robe slipped down a shoulder, revealing the tight, pale pink peak of a nipple straining against the t-shirt. “What are they called?”

Jaime reluctantly tore his gaze away from that enticing point of flesh then smiled at her innocently. Of course. There was no other name for it.

“Wench,” he answered, taking one for himself. Brienne automatically glanced at him. A delicate burst of sugar filled his mouth. He held out the box to her. “Would you like more wenches?”

Brienne nodded, taking one and throwing it at him. He laughed as it hit him on the tip of the nose. She shook her head and took another, putting it in her mouth. “You’re an asshole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the dessert Jaime 'invents.'  
> https://www.a-kitchen-addiction.com/lemon-meringue-kiss-cookies/?cn-reloaded=1


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my dear catherineflowers for suggesting the name for Jaime's bacon-topped cupcake!
> 
> Sweet-and-soaked is what I call French toast in this universe.

With her backside still sore and her body heavy from being forced out of bed so early, Brienne all but crawled out of the cab. She stood on the sidewalk as it pulled away, yawning hugely. She glanced at her watch. Six fucking am. _It’s a fucking crime against humanity to be up this early._

Another yawn and she staggered to the alley leading to the back of the shop. The thick layers of clothes she was wearing seemed useless against the chilly morning. Balancing the tray of two tall cups of coffee in one hand, where a bag of donuts also hung from her wrist, she dug in her purse for the keys. Jaime made her a duplicate so she could go in without having to wait for him.

“Jaime?” She called out, pushing open the heavy door. She grunted and threw her shoulder against it, yawning again. Gods, what she would give to be in bed for another hour. She strolled through the short hallway, finding the lights have already been switched on as well as the heat. She turned on a corner, finding herself in the kitchen. It was empty but the lights were on. “Jaime?”

Though there were no pastries in the oven, the kitchen was still fragrant with vanilla, sugar and chocolate. She breathed deeply, putting her bag and other things on one of the steel counters. She rubbed her sore ass through the jeans, calling again. “Jaime?”

“Hells, Brienne, could you go easy on the hollering?” Jaime complained as he suddenly burst out of the office. She narrowed here eyes at him. The gods were truly cruel to have someone this good-looking up and about so early in the morning.

Dressed in his chef’s double-breasted white shirt, the houndstooth pattern pants and bright crimson clogs, Jaime was ready to work. His emerald gaze was clear, giving her a once-over that made her scarf suddenly too tight. His movements were brisk in knotting the ties of his white apron round and round a trim waist. As he walked past her, her nose picked up a stronger note of vanilla from him. He really smelled like pastries, she realized. Vanilla and sugar and something else that made her all melty and soft. Her tongue flicked out to lick her lips, remembering the firm press of his lips there.

Despite her grief and distractions with saving the shop, she had never been able to forget his scent. Her kitchen still smelled of him this morning.

As Jaime secured the apron, she discreetly leaned forward for a quick whiff of his nape. _Yes_. He smelled like a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies laced with the notes of someone just out of the shower.

Jaime turned around. Gave her a strange look. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she grunted, turning away to hide her blush. “Um, there’s coffee and donuts.”

She shrugged off her jacket next, putting it in a growing pile on the counter with her scarf and purse. Feeling his eyes on her, she risked a glance. Jaime’s eyes moved from her chest to her face then down her body, lingering somewhere below. She frowned.

“What.”

He smirked. “How’s your ass?”

She scowled, making him grin even more. “It’s fine,” she muttered. She had to ice it for a while. The scrapes on her palms and wrists still stung. The bruise on the rich cheek of her ass was a deep purple-blue when she looked at it earlier.

“Good to know. But if you’d let me inspect it as I have been asking you to, I could give an _ass_ essment,” he said, emphasizing the syllable. The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened.

“You’re never seeing my ass, Jaime,” she retorted. He laughed.

Noticing for the first time the coffee and donuts, he remarked, “What the fuck are those? We have coffee machines. And I can easily make donuts if that’s what you want.”

“You don’t have to do that. And the donuts are incidental. They’re the only ones available in the bakery near my place. I came close to a sugar coma last night,” she said, taking two stools placed against the wall. She pushed one towards Jaime and gingerly sat on the other. “I’d kill for bacon.” 

“Ah. So you couldn’t get enough wenches?” She gave a start seeing how his eyes warmed. He had looked genuinely pleased and proud with how she devoured the—ugh, was she going to call them that too— _wenches_ last night. They were like drops of sugary heaven that lingered on the tongue. Because they were so light, it had been easy to get more and more.

She reached for one of the coffees while placing the other in front of him. “We’re really calling them that?”

“What’s wrong with having a wench?”

“Jaime, wench has negative connotations.”

“But the dictionary meaning of wench is a girl or woman,” he pointed out, looking at the coffee with some trepidation before reaching for one of the cups. He took a sip and made a face.

Brienne sighed. “What’s wrong now?”

“Is this battery acid mixed with dog turd?” He demanded, making a face. He hurried to the sink, washing his mouth and spitting. “Fucking hell,” he groaned, gagging and spitting again. He grabbed a cloth from the pocket of his apron and looked at her with a mix of horror and disbelief. “How can you drink that stuff?”

“It’s a perfectly decent cup of coffee!” She was embarrassed but defensive too. Alright, so maybe it wasn’t the best cup of coffee in the world. She’d had better. But he didn’t have to be so disgusted. “The bakery is the only place open at this hour. Hey, give that back!”

But it was too late. Jaime dumped her coffee in the sink and smashed the cup before pitching it to the trash. “From now on I’m in charge of coffee,” he declared, sitting down. He looked in the package of donuts and pulled out one, sniffing. He frowned and looked at her, holding up the pastry. “What the fuck is this?”

“I’d tell you it’s a donut, but I think you’re going to disagree with me.”

Jaime shook his head, took a bite then made a face. He spat in his hand and hurried to the sink again. Brienne was aghast. “What’s wrong now?”

“Donuts should be fluffy and melt in your mouth,” he answered, rinsing his mouth then washing his hands. He stomped back to the chair, narrowing his eyes at her. His gaze seemed to drop to her lips. Brienne licked them self-consciously, feeling her neck go hot. “Whatever it is that you bought, it looks like a donut but that’s it. It’s chewy and dry which means it’s stale.”

“They were warm when I got them,” she protested.

“Easiest thing in the world to warm donuts, dust with sugar again.” Jaime said. “Do you want pancakes?”

“Only if you’re making them.”

He grinned. “Naw, that’s not gonna work. We’re partners. Come on. You’re earning every bite.”

As much as Brienne was tempted to grumble at having to work when she’d rather be huddled under the sheets, she enjoyed helping Jaime prepare the breakfast. He took her by hand to the front of the shop, teaching her how to make coffee using one of the scary, industrial-sized machines there. As the coffee brewed, the place began to fill with the rich, strong aroma. Coupled with Jaime’s vanilla-fresh-shower scent and Brienne came close to getting intoxicated.

She was glad her sweater was thick else he’d see how tight her nipples were.

He had her mash the bananas before putting them in batter made from scratch. He laughed when she stuck a finger in the bowl to lick what remained of it. “You do know it has raw egg?”

She dipped her finger again. “Still good. Come and see.”

He startled her when he pulled her hand from the bowl and sucked the batter from her finger. She froze. Time stopped as his lips tightened around her middle finger to get every drop of flavor before releasing it.

And then as suddenly as it happened, it was over. She blinked as he flipped the pancakes. As if nothing unusual had happened. 

He got some flour on his hands and apron, and when doing the final preparations for the pancakes, powdered sugar. Though he looked generally neat all throughout, she couldn’t help but notice how these ingredients clung to his hands, the hair of his arms. And his _scent._ As the smell of banana pancakes filled the kitchen, Jaime’s personal scent got stronger too.

Pancakes were nothing to him. He could make them with eyes closed. But Brienne got a glimpse of how he was when there was serious work. He was focused and intense, cautioning her about mashing the fruit too much that it could end up pureed, yet also making jokes about how glad he wasn’t a banana in this life.

In the last couple of days she had seen him defensive, territorial. Seething at the world, really. This morning, she saw how relaxed and happy he was cooking. There was a light in his eyes, and his dimpled smile was soft, almost tender. An intimate smile given to a lover.

She had to cross her legs when he smiled at her that way. Rather than staving off the strange flare from between her thighs, it got more intense. _He had kissed her there._

“Tell me the truth,” he said conversationally while pouring coffee in mugs a short while later. Brienne was arranging fresh strawberries around the pancakes. “Are there any wenches left?”

Hard as she fought it, the bright red splotches on her cheeks gave her away. She scowled as he grinned at her. She rolled her eyes and finished with the strawberries. “No.”

His grin widened. “You liked them?”

“ _You know_ I liked them. And yes, they’re good. They’re the best thing I’ve had in my mouth for a long time. Probably ever,” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands. He chuckled. “Is that what you want me to say?”

He looked a thousand times more handsome and sexier looking as he did now. Brienne put a plate of pancakes in front of him. “You know you’re great, Jaime.”

For some reason, that gave him a pause. He handed her the coffee and sat down without another word. Confused with what just happened, she did the same. He silently passed the bottle of syrup to her.

“So. . .” she said, scrambling for something to say. “Wenches, Jaime? Really?”

“As opposed to what?” He drawled, taking a sip of coffee. He smacked his lips, kissed his fingertips and pointed at the cup. “Alright. You have got to taste that. Now. I command you.”

“Consider me commanded.” She sipped and lowered the mug. He looked at her expectantly.

“Well?”

She nodded and took another sip. “That _is_ good coffee.”

As she began to eat, Jaime continued, “Pastries don’t really have playful names. Brownies are brownies because they’re brown. Cake, not really a sexy name. Pie on the other hand---”

His eyes dropped suggestively between her thighs. Brienne glared at him. He laughed and took his first bite of the food. “Look, you spoke to me about branding of the shop. I admit to being initially resistant at first—”

“Resistant,” she had to remark, trying not to be distracted by the sweet explosion of flavors and textures in her mouth. Seven hells, the combination of syrup, sugar and the sweet, fresh fruits should give her a cavity just thinking about it. But no. The sweetness was far from overwhelming. The pancake was a masterpiece in balance of flavor and texture.

“Really, resistant? That’s an understatement.”

“Alright. You kind of had to beat my head in for a bit. But I’m ready to see things your way, I’m more than happy to listen to you. But in return, I ask for the same. It’s only fair. We’re partners. Even if you own two percent more than I do.”

“That doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“No.” He looked surprised at her question. She burned all the way to her chest. “Not unless you’re going to suddenly sell your shares without telling me.”

“We can draw up a new contract,” she suggested. “Something like we can’t sell our shares without informing each other. Or _if_ we do, it’s not without approval.”

“You’d do that? The Sapphire Patisserie is a fucking sinking ship, Brienne. I mean, I’m still hopeful—“he clarified when she opened her mouth to protest. He stared at it then continued—“but are you sure about tying yourself to me like that? You did tell me that because of the debts the shop accumulated you can’t shop around for a loan now.” He put away the fork and knife. “I won’t stop you if you want to sell your shares. This is my mess.”

That was the easy way, wasn’t it? She couldn’t get a bank loan right now, true. But she had money saved. That alone was enough for. . .whatever she wanted to do.

But doing nothing won’t solve anything. That was one point. Another was she _was_ already tied to Jaime. Loyalty to Selwyn drove her at first. But after tasting the wenches Brienne now knew for sure her dad was right to have great faith in Jaime. He wasn’t just talented. He knew what to do, how to play with ingredients, how to create something new.

She may have bitten off more than she could chew but she was all in. Brienne never believed in reneging on her word.

“I believe in you, Jaime.”

She turned her attention back to the food and resumed eating. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him watching her. She gave him a glance. “What?”

“That’s it? You’re here because you believe in me?” He spoke slowly, sounding incredulous.

“What other reason should there be?” She put a syrup-soaked sliver of pancake in her mouth. “Awesome pancakes, by the way.”

A slow smile spread across his face.

Something in her was ridiculously pleased for having done that.

“Thanks,” he said, looking like he’d just been smashed in the head. She couldn’t understand it. He had to know how good he was. “So, does that mean I get to call the, uh, how did you describe them last night, ‘wonderous drops of sugar,’ wenches? _Wench?_ ”

*******

Nothing in the last few days have been close to anything Jaime imagined when working with Brienne.

Sure, she could be abrasive and a tad bossy, but her intentions were good. Honorable. She clearly liked doing things her way, which, Jaime realized, included getting his input. Listening to him. And actually considering his ideas and making room for them in her grand plans for The Sapphire Patisserie.

Together, they decided on the shade of blue for the walls. Sapphire, of course, with a white trim and white furniture throughout the store, like shelves and a custom round table in addition to the glass display shelf already available. Brienne showed him studies for the new logo and even gave him a clear book of sample floor tiles he might like.

But the most fun, Jaime was finding out, was arguing with her. Riling her up. She went full wench when he insisted on keeping the croissants and cupcakes. They were best-sellers and there was no pastry shop ever without them.

“The point of the renovation is to re-brand the shop,” she pointed out, her blue eyes bright with frustration and impatience. Her thick lips curled in a most unbecoming sneer but, as Jaime was slowly becoming accustomed to, he couldn’t look away. Short of physically grabbing his own head to look elsewhere, it required true grit to look away.

“Jaime, you’re a four-time Westeros Grand Sugar champion,” she continued. What good spirits he had in their argument vanished as soon as she brought it up. “You hardly do the typical. If you stick to the classics, you always come up with a surprise twist. If you’re insistent about cupcakes, then I insist that you do something new with them.”

She crossed her arms challengingly. He looked at her square in the eye, refusing to back down.

When seconds passed without word from him, she sighed. “I swear I wasn’t gonna do this. But it’s my money we’re using for the renovation and everything else.” Her voice dropped. “I also have controlling interest.”

She needn’t say more. She didn’t have to say it, but Jaime knew he had put her in the position for this power play. And himself too—he said no to her offer to settle the debt in one go. When she offered to bankroll the renovation, he had wanted to say no too—until she pointed out he had to accept her help at some point. 

It had been a battle getting her to stop from paying the loan and it felt like he’d gone to a very physical, real battle. The amount she proposed for the renovation wasn’t even a quarter of the money she had offered to get rid of the debt. But it was still sizable. Alright. Still quite a generous chunk.

She had the money and the power. He didn’t mind. Really. But she was going about reminding him of the past without realizing that every word about it was a knife to the heart. She didn’t know. Several times Jaime had wanted to sit her down and tell the truth. And for every time he had the courage, so was this surge of fear. It wasn’t the possibility of losing her support, but that she would come to look at him as the disappointing, no-good piece of shit.

He couldn’t stand seeing disdain in those eyes.

So he met her challenge. At least she had relented with wenches. He wanted to show his creativity and imagination were hardly accidents. He was going to create pastries no one had ever done before. Better if they were food that broke the rules.

“What do you think,” he asked Brienne one day. She was mixing the next batch of paint. He dipped the roller in a pan then pressed it on the wall, “about banana cream cheese cupcakes?”

He guided the roller a few times up and down the wall before turning around to look at her. She was sitting on the floor and making a face. The sight pulled a laugh from him. She had tied a bandanna around her head to keep bangs from fluttering to her forehead. But she was a fucking mess: paint on both cheeks and around the neck, even on her sneakers.

He dipped the roller in the pan again then put more paint on the spot he’d just left. “What’s wrong with banana cream cheese cupcakes?”

“You have paint on your face,” she said instead, pointing then standing up.

“Where?” he asked, swiping the back of his hand on his chin. She was the one to laugh this time.

“You made it worse! Hang on.”

With the bottom of her t-shirt, she wiped the paint from his cheek and chin. He caught a glimpse of freckles scattered around her stomach. The smell of paint was overpowering but his nose still picked up that fresh whiff of something herbal from her. Did she wear perfume? Maybe her shampoo? Because she was staring at her progress in cleaning paint off him, he managed to sneak a glance at her tits. Her t-shirt was black with a giant graphic. He couldn’t tell if she was braless.

Crazy thought but he was close to giving his right hand if it meant knowing for sure her tits were bare under the top. He wondered if he should tell her someday that wenches were inspired by her nipples.

“All good,” she murmured, finishing. He cocked an eyebrow at how carefully she was straightening her t-shirt. Her neck was pink.

“You have paint too.”

She raised her eyes to him. He took a towel from his pocket and wiped it on her cheeks, careful to rub the soft skin. The paint was still wet so it was easy to remove.

The skin under his hand was warm and supple. His eyes softened as he felt the warmth of a fresh blush. His thumb rubbed back and forth seemingly by its own accord. Closer like this, her eyes seemed to get bluer by the second. She dropped her gaze, pale eyelashes fluttering as her blush deepened.

Just as he was about to stroke the line of her lip, she let out a breath. He quickly dropped his hand. Let out a breath too.

She returned to re-mixing the paint.

“So?” He said, dipping the roller in the pan again as if nothing had happened. Blue dripped from it before he pressed roller to the wall. “What do you think about my banana?”

“Huh? Oh. You mean banana cream cheese cupcakes? Not really ground-breaking, are they?”

“You said the same with my strawberry cream cheese,” he reminded her.

“How about if you step out of the cream cheese box for now? Jaime, nearly every bakery and pastry shop in the entire city has something with cream cheese. And I honestly don’t know where the love comes from. Cream cheese anything is just fucking disgusting.”

“Hate to break it to you, wench,” he drawled, enjoying her glare. “But cream cheese is in cheesecakes. Don’t tell me you like cheesecakes but hate cream cheese.”

“Ugh. I hate both. Why would you put cheese on something sweet? It’s just. . .it makes no sense.” She poured the mixed paint in her pan and got her roller. “I don’t care how refreshing or a delight cheesecake is. Do you know they now have chocolate cheesecake? Yuck.”

“Yet if I remember correctly, wench, in your fridge are three different cheeses.”

“I like cheese. I like cream. But cream cheese?” He smirked as she shuddered.

It took them an entire day to paint the walls, as well as putting a fresh coat on the white trim. By early evening, they were leaning against the counter enjoying beer and sandwiches Jaime had bought.

“Where did you get this?” Brienne asked in between bites of the pulled pork sandwich. A streak from the coleslaw striped the corner of her lip down to her jaw. “It’s so fucking good, hmm.”

Jaime grinned, reaching out to swipe the coleslaw from her with his thumb. He licked it off and bit his sandwich. “Same place I got the canapes. . .ah. . .”

He flushed, remembering why he got those in the first place. Brienne swallowed.

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “We can talk about my dad.”

“How are you?” He asked after a moment.

She lowered the sandwich and stared off into space. “I miss him every day.”

“Me too,” he admitted. He watched her reach for the can of beer and found it empty. He only had to give her a look to ask if she wanted another. She nodded and he opened a fresh one for her.

Watching her drink, he said, “I miss him more than I do my own father.”

“What—what was he like?” Brienne stammered. She reddened. “But if you don’t want to talk about your dad, it’s fine.”

“Nah, it’s alright. How do I describe him without being a terrible son. . .” Jaime stretched out his legs before getting more comfortable leaning against the counter. Because they had covered the windows with newspaper, he couldn’t see the evening sky. He only knew night had fallen from the drop in the temperature.

“There’s just so many awful memories of him compared to the good ones,” he began, his throat tight. “The. . .father I struggle to remember was a man who used to walk me to the bus stop for school. Patted me on the head. Told me to learn something and that I made him proud everyday.”

He was sure that was a memory rather than wishful thinking. Tywin crouching before him, adjusting his hat and making sure the collar of his jacket was up, that he had mittens. Warm green eyes looking at him as he told Jaime to be good, that he was proud of him.

“Everything changed when I was around nine, or ten. My mom was pregnant. I was excited. And my dad was so happy. It’s the happiest I remember seeing him. I was going to have a sister. And then. . .I don’t know. My mom gave birth early. There were complications. In less than a day, I lost her and my baby sister.” Jaime’s eyes hardened remembering Tywin coming home from the hospital. The stony expression on his face, the red eyes. How he approached his dad, asking about his mother and baby sister.

“He told me they’re gone. And when I asked, tried to understand, that was the first time he hit me. Clear flung me across the room too.” Jaime said, looking at Brienne. “That was only the beginning. He started drinking. Couldn’t hold down a job. We lost our house and had to move in this awful apartment. There was hardly a day he wasn’t beating me—”

To his shock, his eyes began to water. Brienne made a distressed sound and put a hand on his knee. He let out a breath and held her hand tightly, as if it was an anchor lest he be dragged by the tide of pain. Or a talisman from the pain of memories.

“Jaime, I’m so sorry.”

“For the longest time I heard nothing but what a waste of space I was. Every foster home I went to just echoed what my dad kept telling me. Not until I broke into Selwyn’s shop did I consider I could be worth something, Brienne. Your dad, until you, was the only one to see me. _Really see me._ ”

He twined his fingers through her fingers. It wasn’t until he reached out to cup her cheek that he realized he was trembling. She saw this too and cupped this hand to her face. He closed his eyes briefly as her warmth ceased the tremors. He opened his eyes, catching her press a kiss on his paint-stained palm. She stared back at him, her breath fluttering against his hand. Her lips were half-parted.

He was remembering their first kiss. How soft her mouth was. Pillowy, plump flesh crafted for kisses. He felt himself stir and he flushed, embarrassed. It had been too long since he’d fucked anyone. He shouldn’t have cancelled on Marge.

“Don’t,” he said abruptly, snatching his hand away. He started packing up even though they each had half a sandwich left and several cans of beer. Ignoring the confusion on Brienne’s face, he continued, “We have another early start tomorrow. You said you have more logo studies to show, yes?”

“Uh—um, yeah,” she said. He got to his feet and so did she. He looked up at her, taller and more powerful, yet also gentler with her eyes. “Jaime, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

He shook his head. “You should go. Let’s meet at my place tomorrow?” To lessen some of the tension, he added, “I’ll make breakfast.”

“Oh—okay.” It was clear she was trying to figure out what had happened. “If that’s what you want. But don’t forget we’re meeting my friend Tormund to discuss about shelves and the table you want. He’ll be here at around ten.”

“Perfectly alright. Do you want me to get you a cab?”

She shook her head. “I’ll go get my things. Do you need help?”

“I’m fine.”

While she was in the kitchen, Jaime pulled out his phone from the pocket. He scrolled through names there before deciding on one. His call was answered on the third ring.

“Hey. I’ve been missing you.”

*******

Still confused over what had happened, it took a moment for Brienne to realize why the scent of roses was so thick and cloying in the hallway. It was when she nearly tripped over the arrangements left at her door that she saw them.

“Seven bloody fucking hells. Really?” She growled, glaring at the red roses.

Without another thought, she gathered the six bouquets in her arms and marched to the garbage chute. She had never liked roses, but this was the first time their too-sweet scent came close making her physically ill. Wrinkling her nose, she unlocked the door to her apartment and went in.

She spied one of the cards that had come with a previous arrangement Renly sent her. The jerk had been relentless. First, he’d sent her earrings, clearly forgetting she didn’t have pierced ears. She looked up online how much they were worth before going to the nearest sept to put them in the donation box.

When she didn’t respond to his gift, she got a letter next. In it, he wrote an apology about forgetting she didn’t wear earrings. It came with a giant stuffed bear. Five more came, each with an apology. She went to a children’s shelter and donated all toys. She finally emailed Renly to stop sending her gifts. Either he had yet to read it or was ignoring her request. The roses started coming in a few days ago.

Enough was enough. He clearly thought he deserved to be forgiven. Brienne was just tired from it. From the moment she found out his betrayal, her heart had soured toward him. Hate was slowly dissipating but she refused to have anything to do with him anymore. What most people read as passionate, romantic behavior was becoming an annoyance. Even harassment. Brienne had to act.

She dialed the flower shop Renly had been using. If memory served her right, Spectrum had a credit line there. Renly being Renly, he was no doubt using that to send her the flowers.

“Alayaya’s Garden, how may I help you?” Answered a friendly female voice.

“Hi,” Brienne said. “Um, do you have maybe, succulents?”

“Oh, you mean like cacti? We have a good collection of them. What do you have in mind?”

“I’m not sure. But do you have cactus that’s extra spiky, and maybe big?”

“How big?”

Brienne scratched her head. “A foot?”

“Sorry, ma’am. We don’t have anything that big. But we have espostoa, copiacopa, the hedgehog—”

“I really don’t know anything about cacti,” she admitted. “But would any of those be in the shape of a penis?”

“Ah, the hedgehog! It’s the most common.”

“I need your biggest one. And I wish to have two of them delivered to Spectrum tomorrow?”

“Oh, sure thing. Will you be using your company account?”

 _Jackpot_. “Yes, please,” she spoke with relish. She remembered from memory the credit card details because of that vacation with Renly. After giving them to the shop, she said, “I want them to be sent to Renly Baratheon and Randyll Tarly.”

“No problem. What would you like to say on the card?”

“Okay, the one for Mr. Tarly, please write, ‘Reminds me of you, love from Renly.’”

“Mr. Baratheon?” The voice on the other line was confused.

Brienne blushed and cleared her throat. “I know, it’s weird, right? But my bosses have this inside joke going on and I’ve just been tasked to do the cactus thing. You gotta do what you gotta do to keep your job, right?”

“Oh, honey. Believe me, I know perfectly well. What about the cactus for Mr. Baratheon? What will the card say?”

“`Sit on it,’” Brienne said. “He’ll know what it means.”

“Alright. The arrangements will be delivered first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, hang on,” Brienne said, suddenly inspired. “Um, I’d like to add a few more orders?” She quickly rattled off the names of Spectrum’s secretaries. “What are your most expensive flowers there?”

“A fresh shipment of winter roses just came in.”

“Wonderful. I’d like for each lady I mentioned to receive an arrangement of. . .shall we say two dozen?”

“Got it.”

“And please charge it to our company card.”

“Will do, ma’am.”

“Thank you so much. And ma’am? Please include a fifty dragon tip for yourself too. You’ve been so helpful.”

“That’s very generous. Thank you so much!”

“It was a really a pleasure. Bye.”

Brienne hung up, feeling a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders for the first time in weeks. She could just imagine the trouble Renly would be in by tomorrow.

As she put away her things in the bedroom, her mind wandered to the events at the shop today. She and Jaime had been having fun—for once they were not sniping at each other. But then. . .

She looked at her hands. Some paint lingered. She will have to get her nails professionally cleaned too. Her entire body went warm remembering the feel of his lips sucking her finger. He had never done that. There was nothing that called for him to do that. Yet far from being alarmed or put off, she found herself wanting more of it.

Maybe I shouldn’t have kissed him, she thought, going to the bathroom to wash her hands again. _Why did I have to kiss him?_

She had been broken when they first kissed but she never forgot the passion and hunger he poured into every brush of their lips. She soaped her hands, remembering how their roles were reversed not too long ago. He had kissed her because of her pain. His mouth had been warm and soft, kissing her with both passion and earnestness. She must have looked how Jaime had been earlier. He had looked so hurt talking about his dad. Lost and broken.

And she wanted to stop him from thinking that way.

She kept herself busy through the night, ignoring her phone lest she call him. Jaime had clearly been uncomfortable and if she spoke to him about it, it might cause unnecessary tension between them. She fiddled with the computer, adjusting the design of a previous logo she had shown him and creating another.

She worked until her eyes began to water from the glare. She crawled into bed, huddling under the thick comforter. She fell asleep still thinking of her kiss on his hand. And the kiss he’d given her. Though they nagged her through the night, they kept her warm.

Early next morning, she took the cab to Jaime’s place. He lived in an old, mid-century residential building. She let herself in the lobby and found an elevator. It was a paternoster that made loud grinding noises as it went up. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until reaching Jaime’s floor.

She was scanning the numbers marked on the door when she found 5F. Before she could knock, the door opened and a stunning redhead about her age slipped out. Her eyes widened as she nearly collided with Brienne.

“Oh, hi there,” she said, giving her a smile. Her hair was in soft curls cascading down her shoulders. She pulled her coat closed but Brienne already saw she was wearing a silk silver dress under it. She was carrying her shoes, high-heeled silver mules designed to torture feet rather than support them. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she continued, “You must be the next shift. Jaime’s a little annoyed with me this morning.”

“The next shift?” Brienne echoed faintly.

“He’s not really big on sleepovers. I mean, he made that clear last night. But the man,” the woman continued, shaking her head and smiling, “he just goes on and on. His is a penis that won’t quit. There was no way I could use my legs to leave. He sure is one pastry bag that makes many women happy.” She winked knowingly at Brienne. “Right?”

“I’m sorry. Pastry bag?”

“Oh. You don’t know his nickname yet!” The woman took her by the arm. She looked up at Brienne and stood on tiptoes, giggling. “My, you’re tall. You must have incredibly long legs. Anyway, you’re new. Jaime seems to be deviating from his usual type—”

“Huh?”

“Pastry Bag. That’s Jaime’s nickname. _Big_ and packed with goodness.” She licked her lips suggestively. “Like sinful, delicious, heavenly, _thick_ frosting from a—”

“Pastry bag, “ Brienne finished, understanding at last. By the gods. She needed coffee to take information like this. 

“Yeah, Jaime is breaking away from the usual type,” the woman murmured to herself, looking at her from head to toe. Brienne began to feel overdressed in her coat, sweater over her blouse, jeans and boots. “Usually, the shorter the dress, the better for him. Or the fewer the clothes, all the better for you both. He must love how you make him work for it. Oh, do you wear panties?”

“Er. . .don’t you?”

The woman laughed. “I forgot that Jaime _hates_ panties. So I was wearing one last night— _was_ —and I swear to you, he made me pay for it in the _best, hottest way_.”

 _She thinks we’re fucking._ Blushing violently, Brienne stammered to correct her. But the woman looked at her watch and gasped. “ _Shit._ I have to go. I’m Ros, by the way,” she said, putting her shoes on. She waved goodbye. “Bye. Say, if Jaime asks if you’re interested in a three-way, give him my name. I’d love to climb all over you myself. Remember,” she added before going in the elevator, “no panties. Unless you love to be punished!”   


********

While the bacon was cooking in the oven, Jaime picked up one of the bread slices soaked in egg and milk. Carefully, he put it in a pan greased with butter.

Fucking Ros last night should have relaxed him. Instead, he got more restless. He thought fucking her a few more times would at least drain some of that energy. He didn’t get hornier, or harder. Just. . .far from peace.

The plan was to fuck then send her away. By the time they finished, it was past midnight and freezing. Much as Jaime wanted the bed to himself—and to be free from her too-thick perfume—he ended up letting her stay over and crashing on the couch. He’d had to cram his long body there yet was sound asleep in seconds.

And spent the night dreaming of round sapphire eyes boring into him. Then just nibbling and kissing thick lips. He was not too happy when Ros woke him up to say goodbye. She had been half-dressed, looking for her slip and other things and his cock was ready to distract her from that. Instead he’d locked himself in the bathroom and showered.

He liked fucking. A lot. He just didn’t want to smell of it and another woman’s perfume around Brienne. Oh, he knew she fucked around too—had to, despite her looks, because men had odd predilections sometimes—but it just felt wrong to wear the scent of debauchery around her. Though her grief was a shroud she still had to shake off, she seemed to come from light. She could go easy on the scowls and look something close to halfway pleasant but there was something golden that radiated from her. Then those eyes. And she smelled so fucking clean and fresh.

With Ros gone, he ventured to the kitchen and started on breakfast. He put bacon in the oven instead of frying them, to enhance their flavor. He found some day-old bread that would be perfect for sweet-and-soaked. They would be dipped in a mixture of egg and milk, then cooked in a butter-greased pan.

He had just flipped the bread when someone knocked on the door. As he flipped the bread in the pan, someone knocked on the door. He looked at the ceiling, praying to the Seven it wasn’t Ros and she’d forgotten something. As he went to the door, he spied a pair of bright pink panties under the coffee table. “Who is it?” He called out, stuffing it in the back pocket of his jeans.

“Er, it’s Brienne. You told me to come at eight and. . .”

“It’s eight,” he finished, looking at the clock. Right on time. He answered the door with a smile.

Bright eyes atop a face redder than the ripest tomato greeted him. She looked shell-shocked. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he said, puzzled. “Come in.”

She nodded faintly and entered. He looked at her carefully while closing the door. “Everything okay, wench? Can I take your coat?”

“Yeah.”

But she made no move to remove her coat or even lower her bag. Jaime walked around her, noticing that her eyes seemed dilated and she didn’t appear to be breathing. “What the fuck happened to you?”

His gruff tone snapped her out of whatever funk she was in. Brienne blinked and for the first time focused her eyes on him. “Oh, hi. Yeah. Sorry. I was just—”

“What? You look like somebody bonked you on the head or something.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head quickly, pulling off her scarf. He took it from her. Her coat came off next, revealing another blue sweater. This fit her perfectly this time. He liked how her jeans clung to her long thighs and the knee-high boots that fit her long legs perfectly. “Sorry. I was just—” she wrinkled her nose. “Jaime, something’s burning.”

“Shit.” He flung her scarf to the couch and hurried to the kitchen. Smoke rose from the breads. Cursing, he tossed them in the trash, along with the panties. He switched off the flame. “Make yourself at home. Sit anywhere you want.”

“That’s a nice photo of you,” Brienne remarked as he put slices of bread in the egg and milk mixture. He looked at what she was referring to and felt a pang. It was a photo of him from years ago, back when he started working for Selwyn at The Golden Stag.

“Toque and all,” he said, turning on stove and re-greasing the pan. He watched her continue to stand in font of the fireplace hugging herself.

“How old you were you here?”

“Twenty-eight, I think.” He gestured at the couch. “Wench, come on. Have a seat.”

“Can’t I help?” She asked, approaching him.

“Not this time,” he said, smiling. “You’re my guest.”

For some reason, that made her blush. At least she was the red of apples this time. Maybe he should do an apple tart for the new menu. Or apple pie. An upgraded apple pie.

Brienne smiled back and turned on her heel to sit on the couch. As Jaime turned the bread over, he cast her furtive glances. He hoped to the Seven there wasn’t anything embarrassing like a used condom or a bra under the pillows.

Hardly a week went by without fucking at least two women, either at the same time or separately. Fucking was his release—it certainly rivaled any gourmet sandwich and he loved sandwiches. Sometimes he had as many as four women in a week. It wasn’t a great effort hooking them—he was good-looking, charming and a great cook. Not that he’d made any of them breakfast. For the lot of them, they were fine spreading their legs for someone like him.

In recent weeks, the conquest, even the fucking itself, had begun to get. . . _unfulfilling_. Unsatisfying. Margaery was his favorite because she never said no and was up for anything—really, anything. But because she had been complaining lately about never getting calls or visiting him in the shop, he’d begun to keep his distance. Sansa, pretty as she was and with her porn star tits, was just a decent lay. Like rubbing away a cramp. Ros was purely for fucking and she wanted things to remain that way. Which should have made her the perfect antidote last night. And he thought he could really use some fucking since it had been weeks.

Talking about the past always made Jaime feel wretched. Tywin was long gone but his cruelty remained. No one would understand that no matter how many awards he received his father was still the voice in his head. Telling him was no-good and would never amount to anything. The awards felt like weights drowning him further.

Fucking was the cure for that. Pounding the night away, drinking in the breathless moans of a beautiful, willing woman. He slept the soundest after fucking. Until last night.

He took the bread from the pan then the bacon from the oven. He snuck another glance at Brienne, who sat facing away from him. Despite the distance, he could see the freckles scattered around her nape.

What would it be like, he wondered, to go to her and kiss those spots?

“Something smells delicious,” she suddenly said, turning to look at him. He quickly cast his eyes to the task of plating the meal. She took a long, deep whiff. “Gods, could there be a more heavenly smell than bacon?”

Speaking quite breathily, her voice a deep husk, Jaime’s cock twitched.

Would she hit him or blush if he said he’d never smelled anything as delicious as the scent between her legs? She didn’t smell like roses. He remembered as much from that too-short kiss on her cunt. She had smelled like a woman. Natural. Fresh. Real.

“An herb garden,” he answered instead.

“An herb garden?”

“Yes.” Finishing, he squeezed syrup on the slices of sweet-and-soaked and drizzled some on the bacon too. He took the plates to the living room, prompting Brienne to stand up and again offer to help.

“No, sit down,” he said, easily placing the plates on the table. He straightened up, looking down at her. “Have you taken a walk in an herb garden? It’s honestly the best-smelling place on earth. Very refreshing,” he continued, going back to the kitchen to pour freshly-squeezed orange juice in glasses. “Basil, rosemary, thyme. . .not to crazy about lavender, though.”

“I’m not too crazy about lavender either. I mean, it looks nice when they’re bunched together. But. . .” she turned pink.

He had to will himself to look away, lest the juice drowned his shoes. “The old lady smell?”

She laughed. “Precisely.”

Her laugh was between a sharp wheezing and a sputtering motorboat. Hardly sexy—hell, not even close to the territory of sexy. But he liked how genuine she sounded.

Maybe that’s why he was drawn to her. Brienne had no artifice, nothing close to a put-on. She spoke her mind. The truth was always in her eyes. Her face a naked canvas for every expression that even a blind person could see. She was probably bad at lying. One of her blushes would give her away in an instant.

Jaime picked up the glasses from the counter, his heart suddenly heavy. She had served him nothing but honesty from the beginning. In return, he had been a fucking liar. She had to know exactly what he’d been doing for the shop. And man did he dread having to tell her. Worse was if she discovered the truth before he could.

“Thank you,” she said, taking one of the glasses he offered. She looked at her plate. “I haven’t had sweet-and-soaked for a long time.” She picked up one of the strips of bacon and took a bite. The way her eyes closed was sensual, causing Jaime’s gut to tense. Her lips shone with the grease, pursing in the shape of a strawberry. It was so fucking pornographic. Hotter than Ros' mouth around his cock. 

“That’s amazing,” she exclaimed, opening her eyes, still chewing. She looked at the remaining bacon in her hand. “And it’s so thick. What brand is this?”

“I, uh,” Jaime cleared his throat. At least she wasn’t looking so blissed out now. “I made it myself.”

She swallowed. “You make your own bacon?”

“It’s not rocket science, wench. Pork belly, time on your hands, spices.”

“You seriously make your own bacon?”

“Why not? Commercial meat is always packed with chemicals.”

“Yeah. Because so many people make their own bacon.” She remarked, grinning at him. “You never fail to surprise me, Jaime.”

 _It won’t always be good_ , he thought, cutting a piece off the sweet-and-soaked. He pierced it with a fork then a sliver of bacon. As he chewed, she nodded at him.

“I just love the combination of the bacon spices, the salt, then the sweetness of maple syrup,” she said, finishing off the strip and sucking her fingers. “And your meat is so thick. It’s so good, Jaime. It really is. Say—”

She suddenly trailed off and blushed furiously.

He laughed. “Don’t leave me hanging, wench. What is it?”

“Have you every thought of putting bacon in a pastry? Like, a cupcake topping maybe?”

“Bacon on a cupcake?” He didn’t know how that would pan out but wasn’t going to dismiss it right off. “Not a muffin?”

“A cupcake. I mean, the salt-and-sweet trend is really strong right now. Who knew salted caramel would be so popular? Just give it a thought. You know pastries a lot better than I do.”

Then she bowed her head, studiously cutting at the bread. Jaime watched her, wanting to assurance she hadn’t overstepped her bounds. Bacon and cupcakes, indeed. How was that going to happen? On the other hand—

It was an update on a classic pastry. An interesting twist, to say the least.

And it broke the rules.

A lock of pale hair fell over her eyes. He brushed it away before thinking better. She looked at him and he quickly retracted his hand. “Alright, wench. Say I let your idea percolate in my head. They say the best cupcakes have names. Any ideas?”

Brienne opened her mouth and bit into another strip. Grease and maple syrup smeared the top of her lip. She grinned hugely and laughed. “Oathporker.”


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jaime, I already told you about putting things I don’t know about in my mouth!” 
> 
> “The worst case scenario is you’ll spit it out or gag. You know I don’t take it personally. But you’ll make me feel like god of the universe if you swallow, wench. Come on. Close your pretty eyes. I promise you’ll like this.”

With Tormund and his crew re-tiling and doing other carpentry work, the shop was chaos unleashed for a few days. The whine and roar of tools drove Jaime up the wall as he experimented with possible additions to the menu. Brienne got a headache too from all the noise.

Besides busy with tweaking the logo per Jaime’s suggestions and doing some variations with other samples, she was also checking her email. Every major agency in the city had received her resume. Except for the three interviews that declared her overqualified and too expensive, there had been nothing. It fucking hurt. The bitterness of rejection would have weighed more heavily if not for the shop.

Distracting herself with spreadsheets of expenses was a lifesaver. And also doing research of possible new suppliers—this was bound to get some resistance from Jaime but she hoped he would at least consider getting a new supplier for the sugar. She knew next to nothing about sugar and its quality but if some more cost-cutting measures would put more money into paying their debt, all the better.

“Hey,” she said one day, letting herself out of the office and into the kitchen. She winced from the roar of machinery out front, followed by repeated whams of hammers. Jaime glanced in her direction, pastry bag poised over a tray of cupcakes. She stared at the object for a moment, her cheeks warming before turning back to Jaime. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” he said, grabbing a sponge to wipe the area where he had been working. The kitchen was warm and smelled richly of vanilla and sugar. And then Jaime. What aftershave smelled that good? She wondered, watching him work. The hairs on his arms were dusted with flour. “What is it?”

“I printed out some articles about you,” she said, displaying three frames next to the cupcakes. “Now, I know you’re not too keen about it—”

“Wench,” he said with a long, loud sigh. “I believe the words I used were, ‘fucking no,’ and ‘I fucking refuse.’”

“Alright. So you said—and by the way, my name is Brienne,” she said, cocking an eyebrow at him. “But could you at least look at them? Jaime, you’re the ultimate draw about this shop. If you don’t want all of these up then can we have one? Just one? And you can choose.”

Jaime’s eyes rolled to the ceiling before he put way the pastry bag. They stood shoulder to shoulder. Brienne didn’t know whether to hold her breath as his scent washed over her or continue breathing. She leaned closer, getting some of the flour from his uniform on her blouse.

“Kingslayer of sugar, indeed,” he muttered under his breath, looking at them. He crossed his arms and looked at her suspiciously. “I have your word I can choose what goes up?”

“Yes.” She put a hand on her heart. “On my honor.”

“Alright, wench. This one.” He tapped the smallest frame, the one with the shortest article about him. “And this goes behind the counter.”

“But no one will see it—”

“Either it’s up there or nowhere else, wench,” he said firmly, crossing his arms and sending her a challenging look. She frowned back at him. “Put stuff up about the shop but not about me, come on.”

She swore he looked quite ill at the idea but he turned away to pick up the pastry bag again. She watched the elegant sinew of muscle flex and tense as he held it over the cupcakes, making slight twirling motions for the frosting to have that swirly design. The subject was clearly over.

“Alright,” she said, throwing up her hands. “I’ll have Tormund put this up along with the others.”

Just then, they heard a whining, grinding sound from outside. Jaime paused to look behind him while Brienne blushed. When he looked back at her, he demanded, “How long will your friend be working, wench? I can’t concentrate with all this racket and dust getting on the food.”

“Just a couple of more days. I swear and you’re going to love it,” she said. “And Tormund’s your friend too. He’s the only one who liked your chocolate-and-orange cupcakes.”

She didn’t hide her shudder at the memory of it. For his experiments with the new menu, Jaime had been testing them on her and Tormund and his crew. So far, the wenches had been a hit. Jaime had been striking out on cupcakes and other pastries.

“Yeah, that was a bit wild. Don’t worry, it doesn’t go on the menu. Hard to forget how you gagged. Also because you threatened to break my legs for putting it in your mouth.”

Brienne licked her lips as she watched him put frosting on the next row of cupcakes. “What did you do now.”

“Ah. Say, wench, don’t go back to your hole yet. Sit here. Entertain me while I finish with these babies.”

“My name,” she said with exaggerated patience, “is Brienne.”

“Hmm. If you say so,” he murmured.

“What did you make this time?” She asked, both curious and dreading it. “I hope you’ve stopped putting cheese on cupcakes.”

“You have to admit the ricotta basil had promise,” he protested as she made a face.

“No, it didn’t. It was just as bad as the orange chocolate. Fucking hell, Jaime. It’s like omelet but all wrong. Then there’s also that too-sweet caramel vanilla cake. Tormund was convinced he was gonna get a cavity. So, come on. What did you do this time?” She sniffed the air. “The smell is familiar but I can’t place it.”

“You like how it smells?” He asked, moving to the next row.

Well, it was him she could smell. Mostly only him, with a hint of something rich and indulgent that reminded her of home and breakfast. “It’s making me hungry.”

“Good.”

When he was still not forthcoming about the kind of cupcake he’d made, she complained, “It’s only fair I know first what you’ll be putting in my mouth.”

“Trust me, you’ll like this! I think I should blindfold you.”

_“Fuck, no.”_

He laughed at her scowl. “No,” he said softly. “It’s a crime to cover your pretty eyes, wench.”

 _“Brienne.”_ She snapped.

“Whatever you say.”

“What is that frosting?” She wondered out loud, daring to inhale deeply. Okay, she could smell his sweat too but even that was delicious. Her nipples hardened as she took his scent deep within her body. It spread like slow, sweet fire, arrowing surely towards he cunt. She kept her legs closed together as her cunt swelled.

“You can’t tell?” He remarked. “Come on, wench. You know what’s in the frosting.”

“You can just tell me.” She replied. “And Brienne, Jaime, for fuck’s sake.”

“Nope. It’s so much more fun having you guess.” He laughed. “Same with calling you wench.”

“You know, wench is usually some shrill woman in a corset with her boobs spilling out.”

“Well, you have a tendency to get loud,” he teased, laughing again as she turned red. “As for your tits. . .” his eyes dropped to her chest. Brienne wanted to die as her nipples peaked traitorously. There was no hiding them in her white blouse. She crossed her arms, glaring at him while he grinned angelically.

He finished frosting the cupcakes as if nothing had happened. Well, nothing did happen. Now. But he had clearly forgotten about having her nipples in his mouth a while back. Or his tongue in her mouth. His tongue on her pussy. . .

She felt her body go _hot_ before realizing he was likely to have forgotten. Him being Mr. Pastry Bag and all. _It’s none of my business what he does outside of work_ , she reminded herself. Jaime had clearly kissed her because he felt bad about Selwyn, not due to any desire. How could he desire her when there was somebody who looked like Ros? Ros with her salon-perfect red curls. Based on online chatter, he had a harem. And every woman there was far more than willing. How could they not? He was gorgeous. He was a master chef. And sometimes he showed her a sweet, soft side. What woman wouldn’t lose her panties over Jaime Lannister? 

“Alright. I’m done, wench. Will you close your eyes?”

“Jaime,” she whined. “I already told you about putting things I don’t know about in my mouth!”

“The worst case scenario is you’ll spit it out or gag. You know I don’t take it personally. But you’ll make me feel like god of the universe if you swallow, wench. Come on. Close your pretty eyes. I promise you’ll like this.”

“You said that when you put chocolate cheesecake in my mouth.”

He burst out laughing. “You got so red and swore to murder me. It was so fucking worth it. Besides, Tormund and the guys liked it!”

Outvoted on the chocolate cheesecake, it was part of the menu at the moment. Brienne insisted that taste tests be done before and on the opening to make sure. Jaime was sure more people would love it. Right now, their test subjects outside of her were Tormund and his small crew.

“Close your eyes,” he said, his voice dropping low. “Do it for me, wench. I promise you won’t regret it.”

When he looked at her as if she herself was spun to life by gods of sugar, it was next to impossible to resist. No wonder she’d let him do things with her mouth. Flushing, she closed her eyes. “Fine.”

She listened to him tinker around somewhere in the kitchen, put something that sounded like steel close by. A new smell joined the array of aromas in the air. She heard him tinker some more, hearing the scrape of metal on metal. Drumming her fingers on the counter, she growled, “Jaime, you’re killing me here. Just put whatever you want in my mouth, damn it.”

“Wait for it, wench. It’s all going to be so worth it,” he murmured, sounding some distance away. She heard a whoosh and then felt him closer. His leg pressed on her knee. A hand brushed hair from her forehead. “Open your mouth.”

She sniffed. “I smell bacon.”

“Hush. Open your mouth.”

As soon as she did, he mashed frosting into her mouth, followed by flavorful chunks of meat and the cupcake itself, moist and warm. She chewed quickly, smearing frosting and spilling meat down her blouse. She opened her mouth to glare at Jaime for the mess. Instead her eyes brightened as the savory spices from the bacon and the rich, maple-flavored frosting spread on her tongue.

Jaime stared at her mouth longingly. She swallowed and began licking her lips clean when he shook his head. To her disbelief, she stopped.

“Open,” he whispered.

She obeyed. He pushed the cupcake in her mouth, more frosting, bacon. As she chewed and swallowed, a soft, half-moan left her.

“It’s great. Fuck, it really is.” Her eyes shone. “Is this Oathporker?”

Jaime smiled and swiped a finger on the corner of her lip, showing a thick dollop of the frosting. She blushed as he sucked it clean. “It’s great watching you eat, wench.” 

She had to force herself to look away from him. Jaime with his tongue and licking something that came from her off his skin was making her weak in the knees. Letting out a shaky, awkward laugh, she said, “It’s really delicious. Now hand me a napkin. Gods, you make me eat like a slob.”

“Frosting looks good on you,” he said, handing her the rest of the cupcake before reaching for to tear some sheets of papers towels. She took them and wiped her face clean. She was looking inside her blouse wondering how to get the bacon from there when Tormund burst through the swinging door.

“Hey, guys, I thought I’d show you—” Tormund took one look at Brienne’s red face and Jaime’s smug grin. He gave them an odd look and said, “Ah, do you want me to come back after a bit?”

“It’s alright,” Brienne answered.

“I just put something in her mouth she finally likes,” Jaime explained.

Tormund raised an eyebrow at his words. Jaime smirked some more. Brienne slapped him on the shoulder, shaking her head. “He’s talking about cupcakes, Tormund.”

“I wasn’t really too sure but it’s clear she likes it,” Jaime continued, rubbing his shoulder. “Hey, Tormund, how do you and your boys feel about trying out bacon-maple cupcakes?” 

“As long as you don’t put any weird herbs, we should survive,” Tormund said. He looked a them carefully. “Say, I’ll give you both a minute. We’ll just be out here. Thought I’d show you our progress.”

*******

 _This_ was the pastry shop he had dreamed about.

Jaime couldn’t believe the transformation. Gone was the old, dreary shop. Now it bore an air of sophistication with its sapphire blue walls, had a vintage feel from its black-and-white tiles. The bright white trim, matching shelves and the huge round table punctuated the elegance of the shop without being stuffy.

“What do you think?” Tormund asked, gesturing grandly. Flecks of paint decorated his overalls and some had gotten on his face and arms. He was flanked with two members of his crew, young guys named Grenn and Pypar. “We still have to put up a couple of more shelves and we’ve allotted space for the frames you want up. But we should be done by tomorrow.”

Jaime couldn’t believe he had not dropped the tray of cupcakes and pie in shock. He turned to Brienne and saw that she shared the same look of amazement. Her soft, close-lipped smile diffused some of the emotions overwhelming him. Her eyes bore the extra shine of tears about to fall.

“Let me have that,” she whispered, taking the tray from him. She carefully set it down on custom design white display table. Jaime ran a palm on its smooth, white surface, for the first time in his life robbed of words.

He was the most undeserving bastard yet here he was standing in the middle of a shop that existed only in his dreams.

“You’re gonna give us a heart attack if you don’t say anything soon,” Tormund whined. “Terrible? Good? Fine? Needs improvement? Give us something here, come on.”

Brienne let out that wheezing motorboat sound. Jaime watched as she threw her arms around Tormund, kissing him soundly on the cheek. “Thank you so much,” she said, hugging him tightly.

Tormund, whose blush came close to matching his hair, hugged her back awkwardly. “Hey, Brienne. Come on now. I’ve done other jobs for you. Why didn’t I get hugs like this?”

“Because your wife might kill me and I love her more than you,” she said, laughing and sniffling at the same time. Tormund laughed, patting her on the back before she pulled away from him. She looked at Jaime. “What—what do you think, Jaime?”

“I have no words,” he told Tormund honestly, offering his hand. “Only thank you.”

“That says more than you think,” Tormund pumped his hand energetically. “Glad you like it, Jaime. Brienne threatened to hang me by the balls if I disappointed you. Well, she and Dacey. My wife.”

Jaime was glad when Brienne returned to her place beside him. They looked at each other. He reached up and cleared the paint from Tormund’s face that had transferred to her. Reluctantly, he lowered his hand and invited Tormund and the others to eat.

“Have some snacks. Bacon-and-maple cupcakes and apple pie,” he told them, gesturing to the treats on the table.

“Goody,” Grenn said, rubbing his palms. “I confess I look forward to the free samples, chef.”

“Not unless it has something like basil!” Tormund exclaimed before taking a huge bite of the cupcake. Miraculously, not one chunk of bacon spilled. His blue eyes widened and he gave Jaime a thumbs up sign.

“Oh. We forgot the drinks. I’ll get them,” Brienne said, backing away. “Who wants milk? Or coffee?”

“Milk, please, ma’am,” Pypar requested, raising his hand in between bites.

“Me too,” Grenn said.

Tormund nodded enthusiastically as he chomped on the rest of the cupcake. “I’ll take one too.”

“Coming right up.”

As Brienne left the room, she caught Jaime’s eye. Jaime finished putting slices of the pie on plates and passing them around. “I need to make a call. I’ll be back soon.”

In the kitchen, he saw Brienne getting a bottle of fresh milk from the fridge. Their eyes met as he walked in. In the fluorescent light her eyes looked very blue, glittering brighter than a fistful of the gems they had stolen their color from. Jaime’s footsteps slowed until he stopped a few feet from her.

His heart was racing.

Watching Brienne put the bottle on the counter was probably the most extraordinary moment he had witnessed at this point in his life. She was not graceful not seductive in her movements. But he saw every tension of muscle in her body—from the inside of her wrist as it bore the weight of the bottle, how her fingers loosened from its neck, how her calves bunched when she rested her weight on one foot then the other. She wore a skirt and dark stockings, boots. Was she wearing a garter belt again? Were her panties wet?

“I’m glad you like the new shop,” she told him, her voice just slightly above a whisper.

“I’m grateful you talked me into it,” he said sincerely. He took one step closer to her.

And another. Then another.

He only stopped once right in front of her. When her breath fluttered the lock of hair fallen across his forehead. He breathed in her breath, her scent. She smelled of maple and something so vital and fresh. He looked in her eyes, mesmerized again by intensity of their shade. When his gaze dropped to her mouth, his uniform began to feel hot and heavy. The full lips and wide mouth should be grotesque.

All he could think about was that first time he had kissed her. How soft and pliable she felt.

Up close, he could see how her blush spread across her cheeks. It was like watching paint slowly spill then spread. He couldn’t help but smile as her eyes fell to his mouth too.

He didn’t know who closed the distance between them. He didn’t care. As soon as her lips were on his, there was little else to care about. He kissed her, re-acquainting himself with the slick, plump feel of her lips, the warmth of her cheek as he pressed his hand to it. She moved closer until he felt her nipples poking at him through her blouse. She tasted of maple frosting and the salt of bacon. Sweet and savory. Woman and heaven. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, buried his tongue in her mouth.

Her tongue thrust back at him, tasting him too. Her hands rubbed up and down his chest until he took one of them to cup his cock. She gasped against his tongue but squeezed him. He unzipped his pants and pulled her hand in the gap, showing her the rough caress he craved. She was a quick study. His head swam from the feel of her warm, calloused hand rubbing him.

They were both breathing hard and kissing harder, deeper. He began pulling up her skirt. She sucked his tongue, nearly obliterating him with the combined pleasure of the kiss and her hand. He clutched at the hard heft of her naked thighs above the lacy band of stockings. His hand fluttered to the front, to her cunt.

Her panties were soaked.

“Are you going to—are you going to fuck me?” She whispered, pulling away from the kiss. Seven hells, she looked ravaged. Mouth swelled to twice its normal size. Dark sapphire eyes. Dilated pupils. Her cheeks a stunning, vivid crimson. Redder than any apple he knew. He sucked on her lower lip as she gently squeezed his balls.

“I want nothing else,” he groaned.

She nodded quickly. Tried to move, murmured something about her garters. He stopped her by picking her up by the waist to put her on the counter. Pulled up her skirt and spread her legs wide. He smiled as she licked her lips.

He swept the panel of her panties aside, grabbed his cock and shoved it inside her. She gave a sexy little sound, somewhere between a grunt and a shriek as she clung to his shoulders. He held her tightly around the waist as he plunged in and out of her cunt, stunned by the squelch of her wet flesh parting and closing around his cock, at her _incredible_ heat and tightness. By the Seven, he’d swear she was a virgin but there was no barrier.

Brienne Tarth. His savior. The ugliest woman he had laid eyes on. Yet the one he had wanted for weeks and weeks—and gods, from how tight and hot she was, a wanting without end. And fuck, she smelled so fucking _fresh_. A whiff of innocence.

As she fisted his shirt and grunted against his neck, his hand slipped between their bodies. He was still fucking her, refusing to stop even for a second. But he found her clit easily, stiff and plump. Rubbing it harshly drew a sharp, shrill cry from her. He kissed her then, muffling her delicious screams, holding her as she trembled from her orgasm. He hoped to the Seven her coming quickly wasn’t a fluke. There was no way he could last when her cunt was so fucking tight. Perhaps the Maiden herself had fashioned it.

“Brienne.” Her name was raw and needy from his throat as he pulled out of her. Something tightened in his back, warning him. As he opened his mouth to gasp, her hands cradled his face and she muffled his cries with kisses too. He rubbed his cock furiously, directing his semen toward her thighs. He felt her jump. He fused his mouth determinedly to hers, grasping her by the nape to still her movements. He ate at her lips, slobbered all over her face as he painted her thighs and cunt with semen.

She was still holding him even when his body had calmed from his release. He kissed her again, tenderly this time. As she kissed him back, his hand lowered to her tits. His thumb caressed her nipple through the shirt.

“Jaime, I—” she gasped. Kissed him rather than finishing the sentence. He was more than happy to kiss her back.

“What is it, wench?” he whispered, enjoying her stuttered breathing and then the flick of her tongue on his lips. He licked her back. She tasted so fucking good.

She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“If you say so,” he murmured. Still kissing her, fondling her tits, he asked, “Do you have any plans tonight?”

She shook her head. Kept kissing him back too. He turned to look at her body. Her shirt was rumpled. Her skirt gathered at her waist. Her thighs gleamed with streaks of his semen. He so very much wanted to lick them off her.

“Do you want to have dinner with me?”

She hesitated then nodded, her eyes wide. He chuckled softly and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

“Can I fuck you again? I’ll get the condoms you like. Ribbed, right?”

That blush was going to kill him. “Yes.”

He tilted his neck up when her lips rubbed back and forth across his jaw. Her breath bathed his throat. “Where do I meet you, Jaime?”

“My place,” he answered, hugging her close, telling her by the touch he wanted more of her little kisses on his neck. She nibbled her way back to his lips, tangling her fingers in his hair, one hand gripping him by the nape. He leaned into the kiss, his cock rubbing against her wet panties. “Dinner’s all mine, wench. All you have to do is show up.”

“Can I bring something?” She asked as he sucked on her lower lip. As she smiled softly, she went on, “Like. . .maybe dessert?”

“Fuck you,” he said affectionately. Pressed his face against her flushed neck to feel the gentle tremor of her laugh. He played with one of the straps of her garters. “Are you wearing this?”

“The garter belt?” She asked, glancing at it. He kissed her on the cheek.

“Will you wear only this and stockings?” He asked hopefully, drawing another laugh from her. She leaned her forehead on his. He took her face in both hands. “And white panties?”

“I have lots of white panties.”

He looked in her eyes, his heart racing again. “Brienne Tarth, you’re a dream come true.”

********

There was nothing to do with her blush and the glazed look in her eyes. Brienne looked at herself in the mirror.

_She and Jaime fucked._

A person only had to take one look at her to know. She had wiped his semen from her thighs and stuffed her wet panties in the wastebasket. Her cunt still felt hollow and quite sore from the out-of-the-blue, rough fuck on the counter. She’d had sex before but by the gods, she hadn’t had anything close to how good Jaime had felt inside her.

She brushed her hair then left the bathroom. Jaime had rejoined Tormund and the others first, bringing them milk. As their enthusiastic conversation and loud laughter reached her ears, Brienne went to the counter to pick up the smallest frame containing the article about Jaime. She looked at the other photo frames left on the article, all longer articles about him. She would have to scan other clippings instead more focused on the shop than him. Or perhaps photos of the food.

She had just tucked the small frame under her arm to go out into the shop when she heard the back door open. She frowned. Employees won’t be coming in tomorrow, when Jaime was going to begin training them for the new menu items.

“Jaime?” A smiling, female voice called out. Brienne found herself tensing, bracing herself for Ros. A redhead did emerge from behind the wall but it wasn’t the woman she had met in his apartment’s hallway. This woman looked to be in her twenties, with pale blue eyes and the classic features of a print model. She was tall but not as tall as Brienne. “Oh, hi,” she said, looking surprised. “Where’s Jaime?”

Schooling her face in a pleasant expression, Brienne held out her hand. “I’m his partner, Brienne Tarth. He’s out front overseeing the construction. Who are you?”

The woman shook her hand, smiling. “We haven’t met. I didn’t know he has a partner. He never said. I’m Sansa Stark. My company supplies the sugar.”

“Winterfell Sugar Company?” Brienne remembered the name from the list. This was one of the suppliers she hoped to replace. “If you’re here about the billing, I believe Jaime settled it right before we closed for renovation. We’ve suspended delivery until the opening.”

“I know. But I want to see Jaime. Where is he?”

Brienne realized it didn’t require one ounce of sweat to figure out why Sansa wanted to see the man who was just grinding his cock in her less than ten minutes ago. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when the truth hit her. She had to remind herself she and Jaime did not have any relationship besides a professional one. That they’d fucked was just. . .incidental. Two people high on their triumph. Hardly dissimilar from warriors returning from a battle and seized with lust.

At the exact moment Brienne was about to answer, Jaime announced his presence. “Wench, I love this Tormund friend of yours—” he was saying before coming to an abrupt halt behind her. Sansa beamed and practically pushed Brienne out of the way as she threw her arms around Jaime. Through the fall of her red hair and the kisses she was peppering around his face, Jaime looked at Brienne with horror.

“I’ll be with Tormund,” she said coolly, hoping to the Seven her voice didn’t break.

“Wait—Brienne—” Jaime said. He managed to grab her by the wrist while setting a confused Sansa away from him. As Brienne willed herself to calm, Jaime carefully steered her around so she was facing him. “I can explain this. Don’t go.”

She looked at him then Sansa. He held her hand tightly. “Please,” he whispered, his eyes pleading with her.

“What’s going on?” Sansa demanded, looking at Jaime then Brienne. “Are you fucking her too?”

Jaime looked like he wanted to skin her alive while Brienne hung her head. “Sansa, could you not say anything? Just this once?”

“He just fucked me,” Brienne told Sansa. She looked at Jaime. “Are you fucking her too?”

“Just that one time. After the expo.” Jaime said softly. Brienne looked at Sansa, who nodded.

“He’s right. Oh, should I not say anything—right.” Sansa, realizing she was about to set off a landmine, began to back away. “Look, Brienne, right? That’s the reason I’m here. Jaime fucked me once and I wanted more. But all that’s changed if you two are—I mean, I’m not the sort to fuck someone’s boyfriend. Or husband---I should go.”

“Yes,” Jaime and Brienne told her. She fled.

“You fucked your supplier?” Brienne asked him, pulling her hand away. She hugged the frame to her chest. “Jaime, I don’t care about what you do outside of this shop, but did it really have to be a supplier?”

“It’s not like I planned it, wench. I wasn’t feeling too good after the dessert expo and she was there.” Jaime raked his palms over his face and looked at her. He looked lost and afraid.

“Did you fuck me too because I just happened to be here?”

The question was out before she could think better of it. She stared at Jaime, wondering just how much he would hurt her.

He shook his head. “I fucked you because I want you.”

“You didn’t fuck me because you felt sorry for me?” She pressed. “Jaime, I need to know. I’m not asking for a commitment. But if there will be others like Sansa, tell me now. If this is casual, tell me. I can take it. I know perfectly well the consequences of fucking a co-worker.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I fucked you because I want you. And I want to fuck you again precisely for that reason. Yes, I want you over for dinner. And there’s an actual dinner, wench. But I hope to fuck you again soon after. And maybe at some point in the night too. _I fucking want you, Brienne_.”

If his confession was meant to shock, it worked. But she never expected this kind of honesty. On his face was the expression of a man who had come to the end of the line. Who had put all his cards on the table. A man who had no point of return.

“I’m sorry you had to find out about Sansa the way you did. But she and I—there’s nothing between us besides boredom and a need to escape disappointment. Why did you fuck me, Brienne?”

She was shaking when she took his hand. It was clammy too. She tore her eyes from his face to watch her fingers twine through the arcs between his. Firming her hold, she gave a slight pull, enough to have him moving toward her. She put away the frame and closed her other hand over his. She raised it to her lips, her eyes shifting back to his gaze.

Jaime was breathing rather quickly, and his entire body was tight with tension. Bracing himself for the worst even when her touch should have already told him otherwise. But there was only so much actions could do. Sometimes words were needed.

“I want you too, Jaime.”


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you think of me?”  
> “Oh, gods.”  
> “They’re just questions, wench.” He drawled.  
> “Brienne!” She exclaimed, dropping her skirt and making him groan. “My name is Brienne.”  
> “As you like to say,” he teased. He went to her and without another word, grasped the edge of her skirt. “Are you going to show me, or should I discover for myself?”  
> “Why don’t you show me what’s under your trousers for a change?” She demanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be known as, "Smut Runneth Over."
> 
> *****  
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my fairy angel SeleneU! Sweetie, don't worry. Your request is coming up soon!

Following the action-packed hour, Brienne retreated in the office. She had several spreadsheets open, one a supplier list, the other the projected expenses for the new menu items, another for expenses concerning the launch and then a list of press people and food bloggers she hoped to invite. The printer was churning out final artwork for the flyer and poster she was bringing to the photocopiers tomorrow.

Focus was never her problem. Even when she sometimes pretended to work on the computer while checking out Jaime kneading dough and wondering how those hard hands would feel on her body, she hardly had trouble returning to work.

It was a fucking struggle knowing what those hands could do now. And his cock too.

Blushing, she shifted in her seat, crossing one knee over the other. Her cunt still felt stretched and wide. Her stockings rubbing together created an electric rustle not unlike the one his trousers made earlier. She could still feel the press of his hands—tender one moment on her face before gripping her by the chin and their none-too-gentle squeezing of her tits. _And his kiss_.

She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead as she highlighted a cell on a spreadsheet.

Gods. Fuck Jaime once and she was a fucking nymphomaniac. She and Renly had quickies before but never at work. Never anywhere outside the bedroom, come to think of it. Until this afternoon, she had thought those quickies with Renly had been hot. Compare that to Jaime pounding into her and swallowing her cries, those romps with Renly seemed. . .business-like.

She and Renly never even kissed at work. Or shared an intimate look. They never made secret of their relationship but neither of them thought once of fooling around the copier. Or going at it in the boardroom. Jaime had fucked her on the kitchen counter for crying out loud. Mere feet away from Tormund and everyone else stuffing themselves in between indulgent groans over bacon cupcakes and apple pie. And then that thing with Sansa—Brienne hoped that was truly over and done with. She had no reason to doubt Jaime but the girl. . .yet she could understand.

 _He sure is one pastry bag that make many women happy._ She never forgot that from Ros. She looked up from the screen to watch Jaime in the kitchen. He was writing in a notebook, a lock of golden hair falling over his forehead. How many women? Was there somebody who felt like she owned Jaime? ? _I fucked you because I want you. And I want to fuck you again precisely for that reason._

She truly believed that despite the many women, as alleged by Ros and online, she was the one he truly wanted. The one he wanted above all. Perhaps she should be more bothered about the women, whoever and how many they were. From the passion of Jaime’s kisses and the soft, tender gaze he gave in the aftermath of their encounter, she wondered if there was one woman besides herself who could want Jaime just for Jaime. Not because he was handsome and made food the gods would worship. Everyone deserved to be wanted. And someone like Jaime who kissed her as if his next breath depended on it, joked with her, drove her mad calling her wench---how could she not want him? How could no one want him as he was?

The rest of the afternoon just glided by. Brienne saw Tormund and his crew off, thanking them for a job well done again. They only had shelves to install for tomorrow and some touch-ups. As Brienne headed back to the office, she saw Jaime come out of the cold storage. He smiled.

She swore the man smelled like sex. Cupcakes and vanilla with a splash of sexy sex. She blushed, smiled back then bowed her head before practically running back to the office. She was sure she heard him chuckling. She found herself doing that too. He infuriated her. All the time. He also made her laugh. Yep. All the time too.

With Renly there had been smiles. Inside jokes. Laughter. But nothing close to the giddiness she felt around Jaime. He never had trouble pulling loud, belly laughs from her.

She was heartbroken over her dad yet because of Jaime, it had been easier to get out of bed. It was painful going back to Selwyn’s apartment and boxing up pieces of his life to be given away and choosing which to keep and treasure for always. Ellaria had not been able to accompany her the last couple of times, so she had gone alone. It wasn’t as hard as before.

She put the print-out carefully in an envelope, along with the CD of the files for professional printing tomorrow. As she pushed her laptop in the bag, the door opened. A glance over her shoulder told it was Jaime.

“I’ll be a little late tomorrow because I have to go to the printers first—“Her sentence ended with a squawk then a laugh as Jaime cupped her tits from behind. Bristly kisses met her nape as she leaned against his chest. She breathed in his fresh-pastry-from-the-oven-smell. She shivered from the scrape of his beard on her skin. Her nipples tightened and he squeezed her tits harder.

“Wench,” he whispered, plucking her nipples through the blouse. She bit her lip, but a little moan still escaped.

“My name,” she whispered back, pressing her hands on his, “is Brienne.”

“Hmm.”

He lowered a hand to her skirt. Palmed her cunt. She reddened as the loud squelch of her cunt betrayed her. “You _are_ a wench. What happened to your panties?”

“They were wet.”

“You’re welcome.” She groaned as fingers nudged her labia open. Her curls were a wet rustle against his hand as he sought her clit. “You’re still wet, wench.” He spoke as if it was a miracle.

She turned her head, dizzy from the need to kiss him and he gave it. A bruising, open-mouthed kiss matched with the sensual play of fingers on her clit. As her arms climbed behind her head to touch his hair, take his face, he lowered his other hand to her cunt. She panted loudly against his mouth through the sweet, hot torment of his hands on her heat. Her legs were liquid from the rough caress on her clit and the deep pumps of a finger in her cunt.

She was on fire, stoked and tamed with every push of his finger inside, a flick on her stiffening clit. Her nipples tightened painfully, ready to stab holes in her blouse as they craved for touch. She and Jaime were no longer kissing. Her mouth was just open and fucked by his tongue; she could only feel and drown in his sexy scent, his wicked touches.

Suddenly, she cried out. His tongue was in her throat, muffling her cries into whimpers as she shook and jerked against him. His fingers went from zero to a hundred fucking her through her orgasm.

“I can’t believe you,” she moaned weakly, head falling forward to lean on the wall. Her knees were still shaking. He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss on her shoulder. His cock poked at the cleft of her ass.

“Me neither. Do you always come that fast?”

She laughed breathlessly and shook her head. “Only with you.”

He laughed softly along with her. She tried to turn but was still too shaky to do anything else. So he turned her in his arms, pinning her against the wall with his body. Her eyes were soft as they looked at his playful smile and the fire in his gaze that rendered it golden. Cupping his face, she took his mouth.

There was no point with a gentle kiss. Her body and soul were still in the clouds. Her cunt still had the imprint of his finger, but she was so, so ready to eat him up. His lips were flecked with flour and sugar. His tongue slightly spiced and so, so warm. He licked her back.

“I don’t see why we have to have dinner first,” he murmured, biting her gently. Through their sloppy, wet kisses, she heard the faint flick and rustle of her blouse being unbuttoned. Fingers flecked with more sugar and a few slicked from her cunt pulled at her nipples. She resumed devouring his mouth, her hunger for him spiking far beyond known levels.

“You’re good enough to eat, wench,” he continued, dragging his lips long enough from her kiss to say the words.

She pulled away to get a better look at him. He looked solemn and also worshipful. Maybe this was why despite what she knew about his reputation, she still wanted him. He would never bullshit her. He wanted her.

Jaime was fuel and sanctuary.

She leaned in, this time brushing her lips on the elegant arcs of his eyebrows then his closed eyelids. Jaime made her so hungry, made her see what she never had with Renly and anyone else.

In her arms was a man who had also been through pain, and maybe a lot more pain than she could imagine. He gasped from chaste kiss. As she threaded her fingers through his hair, she asked, “When will you let me cook for you?”

Her blouse fully open now, he cupped her tits. “You don’t wear bras, don’t you?”

She shook her head. He smiled and tongued a nipple. She lurched sharply against him.

As his tongue lashed at her nipples, she felt him reaching around the back of her waist. He was looking for the snap of the skirt. He found it, released it. The skirt fell to her ankles in a single swoop.

“You always cook,” she half-moaned. She quivered from the harder pull of his mouth on a nipple before his lips travelled up her throat then back to her mouth. He licked her lips. She blinked at him, dropped her gaze to his body. Her eyes sparkled as she began loosening the ties of his apron. He smirked as it fell at their feet.

“You always take care of people, I think. When will you let someone cook for you, at least?” She asked, lowering her arms so her blouse could slide off. His tongue was so fucking delicious that the realization she was left in only a garter belt and stockings was a faint blip in her mind. Kissing desperately, she whispered, “Do you have doubts? Dad did teach me things, you know.”

Jaime suddenly burst out laughing. He kissed her hard on the mouth while putting her hand on his cock. She grinned through their kiss as she cupped him through his trousers. “You are the only woman I know who can talk about her dad and not kill my boner, wench.”

“My name,” she whispered as he unzipped and pulled her hand inside. She blushed as her hand enveloped the hard, thick flesh of his cock, felt the rough, springy pubic hairs. “Is Brienne.”

Through half-closed eyes, he groaned. “If you want. Wench. Play with the foreskin.”

She blushed and looked at her hand wrapped around his cock. She had never seen a penis this thick. So fat and so long. Due to their hurried fucking earlier, she had not been able to get a clear look at his cock. She only knew by feel. She looked back at him then his cock again. Slowly, gently, she rubbed the foreskin back and forth.

_“Seven fucking hells, wench. Yes.”_

It was fascinating watching that skin slide back to reveal the smooth, beautiful head of his cock. But the rapture on Jaime’s face was the reason for the existence of art. Head thrown back, eyes half-closed, lips half-parted, he looked like an angel surrendering to temptation at last.

She slowed her hand, almost careful in how she pulled the foreskin toward the head then back. Again. Then again. Jaime, noticing the change in the pace, groaned, straightening his head. He opened his eyes, revealing a gaze almost black with lust.

 _“Brienne.”_ He grabbed her face in both hands. Crushed her mouth with a kiss.

She sped up her strokes again. Then she tore her mouth away, licking her lips. “What do you like to eat?”

He gave a drunken smile and flattened a hand on her cunt. She blushed, taking her hand away from him to cover it.

“Uh, I haven’t had a wax in ages—” Her cheeks burned even more from the loud rustle of the dirty-blond jungle that was her cunt as she futilely tried covering it. He pulled her hands away from it.

_“Don’t.”_

She stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Don’t touch one fucking hair, wench.”

“Oh.” She glanced at her cunt then him. He was transfixed.

“I want to fuck you for days. Do you know that?” His voice was guttural, a hiss.

She shook her head, her eyes wide.

“I will. Days upon days, wench.” He pushed a finger inside her easily, grinning at the loud wet sound from her cunt. Her hands flew up to her cover her face.

“Never do that. Remember the first time we kissed? When you rode my thigh?” He asked, prying her hands off her face while firming his hold on her cunt with the other.

“I can never forget that,” she confessed before moaning when his thumb pressed on her clit. _“Jaime.”_

“You were wet when I kissed you down there. But you creamed on my pants too. I’ve never washed it.”

“Oh, Gods. I don’t think I needed to know that!”

He kissed her, pushed a tongue harshly in her mouth. His cock nudged at her wet thighs. “Besides pussy,” she whispered, licking him, “what else do you like to eat?”

“Sandwiches,” he said as her hand returned to his cock. They smiled at each other. She felt his reluctance as he relinquished her cunt so she could rub him with no hindrance. Her hand would never leave his cock if it meant keeping that look of pure pleasure on his face. “Any sandwich. But my favorite is pastrami on rye. Wench,” he groaned. “Harder.”

He was beautiful delirious with joy from her hand. She watched her hand slide up and down his cock more firmly, thumb circling the fat head. He gasped and dropped his lips on her shoulder, sucking the supple skin. _“Fuck the gods, yes.”_

She smelled his sweat. His shirt was damp. “When I cook you a meal,” she grunted, her other hand joining to twist around his penis while rubbing back and forth. He groaned. “What would you like me to do for you?”

Suddenly, he grabbed one of her legs, hooked an arm under her knee. He pushed her hands away to seize his cock. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he plunged fully in her, his hipbones grinding against hers. _“Jaime. Jaime.”_

She clung to his shoulders, tears flooding her eyes from _everything_. Gods. She was stuffed. Full. His cock slid out until only the head remained inside her then pushed back in. She slammed against the wall. “Ah.”

“My favorite meal?” He gasped while fucking her frantically. She nodded through the rough bouncing of her body trapped between his and the wall. Licked the sweat from his face. _Yum._

“Y-Yes. Oh, Jaime. _Shit_. Tell me. Oh, gods. Jaime. _Jaime!_ ” 

She saw a flash of brilliant white teeth, the bob of his Adam’s apple. “Dick,” he growled, pounding artlessly into her now. Her ass was going to have bruises. “Dick-in-the-wench!”

Then he pulled out and sprayed semen all over her stomach.

*******

After changing out of his uniform into his t-shirt, sweater, jeans and boots, Jaime met Brienne at the office. He couldn’t help but smile wickedly.

Her hair was flat and neat on her head. She was already bundled in her coat and scarf. But there was no mistaking exactly what she had been doing. Or rather, what he had been doing to her. Her eyes looked brighter and bluer. Her mouth was red and half the size of her face. Then her blush. He licked his lips, thinking of apples smothered with cinnamon. Or moist apple pie.

She smiled back at him. She was shy. Jaime watched as she switched off the lights and stepped out of the office. He’d fucked her, came all over her and she was blushing like a coy virgin. He got a whiff of her sex-laced herb garden scent as she walked past him, then the telltale musk of two people who have done the deed in the office.

“Best to leave the door open, wench. It still smells of fucking.”

She rolled her eyes at him yet left the door open. “I should have someone do a seminar on professional behavior at work.”

“You should,” he agreed. “You can hold it too. You know how it is to be fucked by a pro.”

She gave him a strange look and he laughed. “I’m kidding. But it’s useless if you lie about not liking my cock in you, wench. Your pretty eyes will always give you away. I’m never fucking you facing away from me.”

She blushed and put the keys in her bag. “I guess that means we will be fucking later?”

“Of course. I’d rather skip the dinner, wench. No use being a gentleman when you’re no lady. But I like putting things I made in your mouth too much,” he admitted, enjoying how she scowled but her eyes remained twinkling. “And watching you swallow.”

She shook her head, trying so hard not to smile. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her close. She turned to him, gave him a feathery kiss and whispered, “You’re unbelievable. And my name is Brienne, you asshole.”

“Whatever you say,” he whispered back.

Their kiss, though open-mouthed and with tongue, was sweet. He leaned heavily into on her body, thrilled at being enclosed in her warm embrace and surrounded by her strength. She tasted so fucking fresh, with a hint of the maple and the salt of the bacon still. He slanted his mouth against hers, liking how she swayed and pressed him against the wall this time. His hands slipped under her coat to cup her ass, slapping it heartily.

“Ow,” she grunted, pulling away.

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. He caressed her. “How does pork loin sound for dinner?”

She laughed and slapped him lightly on the cheek. He grinned, biting his lower lip when she twined her fingers through his and pulled him away from the wall. He followed her out of the kitchen, switching off the other lights. As she locked up from outside, he hugged her from behind, his hand returning under her skirt to rub her cunt. Seven above, she was _wet_. The hairs would keep him warm for winter.

“We’re outside,” she whispered. The chains rattled more than usual as she wrapped them around the grills before padlocking it.

“Inside, outside, as long as I can touch you, I don’t give a fuck,” he whispered. When she didn’t say anything, he reluctantly removed his hand from the sweet slickness between her thighs. He expected her to walk ahead of him. She surprised him by once again taking his hand. Together, they walked out of the alley and toward the street.

“When it gets warmer and we’re still friends,” Brienne told him, “you can fuck me outside.” She tucked a lock of hair behind an ear, flushing. “I don’t think I can ever say no to you, Jaime. I don’t believe I’d want to,” she continued, her eyes lasering into his. “I want you too much.”

He paused to look at her. She stared back at him, challenge and hope flaring in her eyes. _She probably expects me to rebuke her or be a fucking jerk,_ he thought, reaching up to caress her cheek.

Too many women had begged him for cock. Too many had said yes. But no one had ever told him he was wanted. No one had been as honest as Brienne.

He didn’t know what was going to happen to them. They had fucked the first time just hours ago and it had only been ten minutes since he was inside her the second time. But in his gut, _in his soul,_ he knew he could never say no to her either. He would never want to. Brienne Tarth was more than irresistible. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get my fill of fucking you, Brienne,” he admitted.

Her eyes softened. “You remembered.”

“What again, wench?”

“Fuck you.”

He laughed. She smiled. The sun was still up but a dark orange disc in the horizon. It was going to set soon. She was hardly beautiful in full light and in half dark, she wouldn’t come close to a beauty. But it was this truth that made him want her so fucking much.

“How much do you like fucking, wench?”

She shrugged. “As much as the next person, I guess.”

“Wench, that’s boring,” he teased. He smiled as she held his hands again. “Come on. Don’t be shy. On a scale of one to ten, ten being you live to have my cock inside you. How much?”

“Jaime,” she said, shaking her head. “Has anyone ever taught you about normal conversation?”

“Yes. And it was boring. Come on. Tell me.” He rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. Her thick lips parted, revealing the wide gap between her two front teeth. “One to ten, wench.”

“If it’s you?” She blushed and kissed him softly. “Too much to count.”

“Too much to count.” Fuck him, he shouldn’t be so fucking happy about that. He had been giddy and smiley since fucking her. Even with the Sansa episode. That was over and done with. Yet as he smiled at Brienne, he was haunted by the truth he was still withholding from her.

He had talked to her about respect and trust. And he had violated it.

“I like that,” he told her, concentrating on the moment, on her. Pale hair fluttering around her face, her gorgeous eyes and thick lips. “If I fuck you all night, how many times can you come?”

She burst out laughing and turned away, dragging him with her.

“Wench, it’s a serious question!” He exclaimed.

“Hush,” she said, taking his face in both hands and kissing him. He purred. He had never fucking purred in his life.

“Come on,” he urged, wrapping his arms around her waist. Though people milled around, it felt like there was only two of them in the world. Bopping his nose against hers, he asked, “Tell me. How many times?”

“I don’t know.” It was sweet how much redder she got. Her pale eyelashes fluttered as she stared at him. “We can find out together?”

“I fucking love having you as a partner.”

“Oh, good. Because I could have sworn you were going to kill me with that monster between your legs.”

“I can try again. ”

He kissed her, too quickly. He had to. Else she’d end up with her skirt around her ankles again. He grinned at the glazed look of her eyes. “Let me get you a cab, wench.”

“What a gentleman,” she mused as he raised his arm. “Now if only you’ll get my name right.”

“Of course. Wench.”

A cab pulled up and Jaime opened the door. “Don’t forget the garters and stockings, wench,” he said.

“Is that a fetish of yours?” She asked, thick eyebrows furrowing.

“Only with you.”

They kissed over the door between them. He smiled gently as she cupped him on the cheek. “Come to me wet.”

Brienne gasped and practically threw herself inside the cab. Jaime laughed and closed the door behind her. As the cab drove away, he watched it weave through the lanes before turning at a corner. He stared at it for a few moments, unable to believe that just minutes ago he was inside Brienne. And now he’d just said goodbye.

It took willpower for him to cross the street and make his way to Stop N’ Gourmet. He had a couple of hours before dinner, but this was just enough time to make his roast pork loin. Ideally, he would do hors’ d’oeuvres too but this dinner was a spur of the moment. He will have to cut some corners but not with the main course.

He opened the door to the shop and was immediately greeted by the wonderful aroma of rich, exotic spices. Besides selling ready-to-eat gourmet dishes that only needed to be popped in the oven, there were also wines, sauces, cheeses and chocolates. A classmate from culinary school owned and operated the shop.

Jaime nodded at Bronn, who was in the wine section and giving suggestions to a customer. Jaime took a basket and made his way to the sauce aisle.

“Well, look at you,” Bronn greeted him a few moments later. With dark hair and a receding hairline, he looked years older than Jaime although they were the same age. He was not very tall but muscular. Prior to culinary school, Bronn had engaged in illegal boxing matches, which explained his unusually large hands and thick wrists. “Shopping for fancy food on a Tuesday night. You do love yourself a lot, you fucker. Most men would be happy with lotion or lube. You fucking date yourself, don’t you?”

Jaime put a jar of apple sauce in the basket. “Never had to resort to lotion to make myself happy, truth be told.”

Bronn chuckled and so did Jaime. They shook hands and had a brief hug. “When’s your shop opening again?”

“By next week, I hope. My new partner and I are still settling on some recipes. She has. . .” Jaime grinned, imagining Brienne’s long, pink tongue. “Specific tastes, I think.”

Bronn looked surprised. “And you’re letting this partner of yours run the show?”

Jaime shrugged. “She has two percent over me. Say, what’s your best appetizer here?”

“Appetizer, you say? What are you looking for—something on the light side or a bit more rich?”

“Definitely light. I’m making her pork loin.” As soon as Jaime dropped the pronoun, he grimaced. Bronn looked surprised then smiled slowly.

“You fucker. You’re cooking for a broad? For the life of me you’ve never cooked for any woman before. Or anyone. And I’m the oldest friend you’ve got.”

“We’re not friends. You call me names and say I’m a shit person whenever we see each other.”

Bronn looked at him then said, “You’re fucking her.”

“I’d actually like recommendations.”

“In fucking her? I’m sure you need them. Why else are you whipping out the pork loin?”

“Bronn.” He didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. While it was true that he’d never cooked for anyone before, he didn’t appreciate Bronn talking so crudely about Brienne. Yes, Jaime liked fucking her. More than liked fucking her. Unlike the other, he enjoyed being with her in other ways and getting to know her. Brienne was a person to him. The rest didn’t matter.

“Alright. Come on. How about the bourbon pork belly? Ah, no. Pork loin, you’re porking her—you _like_ this woman,” Bronn realized out loud when Jaime glared at him. When Jaime neither agreed nor refuted him, Bronn seemed to realize at last that he was serious about the hors d’ oeuvres. He cleared his throat.

“Right. So, ah. Something light, you say? Follow me.” As they walked, Bronn switched to business mode. “As you well know, our ready-to-eat gourmet dishes are also made in our kitchen here, right on the very day. None of them are prepared or cooked in advance, so you can always count on the freshness. They don’t have preservatives either. Pretty much what is prepared on the day gets sold out before closing time. Now, you want something light. . .”

Bronn led him over several aisles. The aroma of spices was headier in this section. He took a foil container from a fridge with a clear, glass door and presented it to him. “Stuffed mushrooms. I know, what’s so special about mushrooms? A lot. Light, packed with protein, easy to prepare, and this dish, you just pop in the oven and it’s ready to eat. This baby has spinach and goat cheese.”

“Sounds promising. This will do,” Jaime said, putting it in the basket. “Anything else?”

“Ah,” Bronn snapped his fingers and opened another fridge. “This is new. Stuffed cherry peppers. With salami and provolone. After heating it, you drizzle with olive oil then top it with fresh parsley.”

Jaime took a container and looked around. “I think that’s it. And I got apple sauce for the pork.”

“Alright. Let’s ring it up.”

Bronn went behind the cash register and swiped the contents on the scanner. As Jaime quietly reached for his wallet, Bronn said, “Look, I was just having fun with you. I didn’t mean to offend you or your friend.”

“Brienne.” A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Call her Brienne.”

Bronn stared at him. “Uh-huh.”

“If you wash your mouth with soap, disinfect it and all, I’ll introduce her to you.” Jaime said as his purchases were put in a bag.

“I suppose you did the same to fuck her? Alright.” Bronn held up a hand as Jaime shook his head. “Too soon.” 

“See you around. Come to the shop when it opens.”

“I will. Good luck.”.

After leaving Bronn’s shop, Jaime hit the butcher next to get the pork loins. He was a good customer and as expected, got the best quality of the meat. He put the wrapped package in the bag and hit the small, independent markets nearby. Unlike big-chain stores, they didn’t charge an arm and a leg for their merchandise. Jaime got some apples and onions then took the cab home. His building was right next to a pharmacy. He went there and got a box of ribbed condoms.

Once home, he preheated the oven then got to work on the pork loin. It had already been trimmed and cut according to his instructions. He made garlic paste to rub all over the meat, as well as ground pepper. Then he seared it in oil until brown. He put in in a large rectangular pan to go in the oven.

He sliced the apples and onions next, then arranged them around the meat. Rosemary and sage were sprinkled generously around it followed by a drizzle of maple syrup. He put it in the oven to cook for an hour.

While this cooked, Jaime sliced the remaining apples for the tart. Apples were his favorite fruit to work on. Crisp and sweet, they were great by themselves and got better when baked. He kept two ovens at home, so while the other was busy cooking the pork loin, the other was free for the dessert.

He always had leftover dough due to his experiments and side jobs. While he worked on the loin earlier, he had pulled it from the fridge so it would be room temperature by the time he needed it. He applied butter generously on a pan then spread the dough on it. Next, he arranged the apples on top until they formed a rose pattern. He had always loved making this dessert. It looked complicated but was actually very easy to do.

As the food cooked, it filled the apartment with the rich, earthy aromas of meat, apples and spices. Jaime vacuumed, searched under furniture for panties and bras, or worse, used condoms. He also changed the sheets and pillowcases. He wasn’t sure if he could resist Brienne long enough to actually fuck her in bed, but he was going to fucking try. He was sure she wouldn’t mind fucking against the wall again, but he wanted those long legs around him.

Done with the bed, he stood back to inspect his work. The bed was now covered in deep navy. Nothing close to sapphire but Brienne’s naked body would look fantastic on it. He would make sure she was always naked in his bed.

 _Yes._ In the bedroom she will be naked at all times. He will not allow clothes. And around the apartment, she could only wear a button-down shirt, panties, garter belt and stockings. Nothing more. He would ply her with Oathporker, wenches, chocolate pies and every dessert she loved in exchange for having her mostly naked here.

He caught himself. He had fucked the woman twice and was already thinking of the future? Hells, he had not even told her the whole truth about the deals he’d made with the likes of Sansa. _Margaery._ He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. At least they didn’t realize his body was part of the deal. He absolutely dreaded Brienne finding out. If it was only those two women, the situation could be nipped in the bud. Really finish them. Margaery he could see and tell her once and for all it was over. But there were more than two.

He resolved to focus only on Brienne. After trying to control himself from pouncing her, he could now relish the relief and the knowledge that she wanted him too. He knew how it was to be wanted, and it was always because of some exchange. Brienne was the only person to want him for himself.

He showered and found himself standing in front of the closet for a good ten minutes wondering which shirt to wear, which pants. And when he finally picked a classic white shirt to go with gray trousers, he dealt with an age-old issue next: boxers or commando?

Commando was the practical choice. It meant getting to be inside Brienne faster. But so he wouldn’t attack her from the doorway and fuck her before she was two steps in, it was best to wear boxers.

In the mirror, Jaime saw his dejected face as he reached for the boxers.

******

Knowing that Jaime would just scoff at anything he hadn’t pre-approved or done himself, Brienne didn’t bother to bring anything, not even wine. But she hadn’t shown up completely without a gift. The problem was the object in question seemed a good idea earlier but truly awkward now.

She stood in front of his door, counting backwards from five to calm her racing heart. She was not nervous about tonight. The problem was too much excitement. Their counter romp had distracted her for the rest of the afternoon. The second had left only one functioning brain cell, she was sure.

That one cell had talked her into putting on panties. Just the very idea of going out sans underwear embarrassed her. Sure, if Jaime was into that _maybe_ she might give him that treat once in a while, but it was definitely a hard pass for her. During the cab ride from the shop earlier, she had kept her legs tightly closed. Every speed bump made her redder in the face as the force almost dislodged them apart.

She wiped her palms on her coat then knocked on the door.

“Wench,” Jaime greeted her, sexy smug grin on and looking lickable from head to toe. His wavy golden hair was brushed back, almost brushing his shoulders. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, exposing the golden hairs of his arms. She smiled back but quickly dropped her gaze because of the naked heat in his eyes. But by doing this her gaze lingered on the front of his trousers. They fit close to his body, hinting at the strength of his thighs and long legs. There was also a clear bulge. She quickly raised her eyes back to his face, heart beating frantically under her chest.

His grin widened, as if he knew what she’d seen. He opened the door wider, and she quickly smelled the rich aroma of spices and apples, and something meaty roasting. “Come,” he said in an almost whisper. She couldn’t resist putting a hand on his chest as she went in.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Jaime pulled her to his chest, took her by the chin and claimed her mouth. She moaned and kissed him back, throwing her arms around his shoulders as his warm, fresh pastry scent surrounded her. He flattened her against the door, pulling his lips from her to cover her chin with kisses next. He pulled at the collar of her turtleneck to assault her throat with his mouth.

“How do you smell so good all the time?” She groaned as he cupped her tits boldly through her dress. She smoothed his tousled hair from his face, her expression baffled and desirous all at once. Some of her lipstick was smeared on him so she swiped it off.

“All natural, wench,” he whispered, pulling her from the door and kissing her again. She moaned, opening her mouth so he could suck her tongue freely.

She would be happy to keep kissing him for the rest of the night. Fuck dinner. Fuck everything else. But it was Jaime who ended it, and the bastard chuckled at her protesting mewl. He stepped back and looked at her from head to toe. “You’re in blue.”

She nodded, glancing at her short, turtleneck royal blue dress. She had paired it with sheer black hosiery and black, low-heeled boots. As she put her bag on the table and started sliding off her coat, he continued, “You should always be in blue, wench.”

She blushed at the admiration in his tone. He took the coat from her to put it in the closet. “Thank you.”

“So shy all of a sudden?” He teased, crossing his arms and looking amused. “Don’t tell me I dreamed fucking you in the kitchen this afternoon. And in the office. I’m gonna be thinking of your wet little pussy on the counter from now on.”

She warmed from the memories. Her cunt was still tender. “I can’t believe you.”

He looked disappointed. “Won’t you be thinking of how I fucked you in the office? Or my cock when at work? In the shower?”

“There’s no way I’m forgetting that, Jaime.”

“Good.” He beamed at her. “But I’ve only fucked you twice. I’ll be fucking you a lot, wench. Though I don’t know the number for a lot. Even when all you can think about is my cock, I will still be fucking you.”

“Maybe you should.” She hoped her voice wasn’t trembling too much. Jaime was like a powerful, very potent drug. One hit and she needed more. She shifted her weight from one foot then the other, trying to ease the swelling in her cunt. “I-I like how you fuck me.”

She looked at her boots then him. Jaime stepped away from the closet and walked to her. “Okay, wench. This shyness of yours is a fucking turn-on. But I still have something to take care of in the kitchen. So for the sake of me treating you proper and actually feeding you food first instead of cock, let’s do without the blushing maiden act.” His eyes gleamed with mischief. “Show me.”

She was puzzled. “Show you what?”

“Come on, wench. I asked for garters and white panties. Show me.”

“Bloody hells, Jaime. Are you for real?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he just looked at the edge of her skirt pointedly.

She should be insulted. Many things she should be but wasn’t. Rather she was excited. Fucking excited and almost giddy from it. Nevertheless, her face was the color of apples as she grasped the skirt and the dark slip to pull them up.

Jaime looked positively _starved_ the moment she exposed her undergarments. Her garter belts were serviceable rather than pretty, so they didn’t have lace or ribbons. The same went with her stockings—nylons rather than silk. With panties, she had pairs lavished with ribbons and lace but wore them rarely. They didn’t feel like her. She was comfortable in simple.

“Does this meet with your approval?” She asked dryly.

“Depends.” He said, licking his lips suggestively. She saw him deliberately steer his gaze away from her cunt back to her face. “Are you wet? I can smell you. Did you fuck yourself before coming here?” He sounded way too excited. “Did you think of me?”

“Oh, gods.”

“They’re just questions, wench.” He drawled.

“Brienne!” She exclaimed, dropping her skirt and making him groan. “My name is Brienne.”

“As you like to say,” he teased. He went to her and without another word, grasped the edge of her skirt. “Are you going to show me, or should I discover for myself?”

“Why don’t you show me what’s under your trousers for a change?” She demanded, slapping his hand away. She crossed her arms and affected a haughty look as she gestured toward his crotch.

“Of course. You only have to ask.” And before she could stop him, Jaime unzipped, lowered his trousers and boxer briefs. She gasped. He was hard and huge. He laughed despite the discomfort of his arousal. “I wanked in the shower, wench. But I kissed you and then you showed me the goods.”

“You asked!’ She protested, trying not to laugh as he grabbed her. She squeaked as he put her hand on his cock. As her fingers circled him, he took her face in both hands. His kiss was open-mouthed and obscene. Yet she moaned, swaying toward him. He pulled her hips, rubbing his cock against her cunt.

“How are you always wet?”

“You kissed me and asked me to show you the goods.” She whispered, biting him playfully. He yanked at the front of her panties. Fingers pushed inside her cunt. Her head fell back. _“Fuck me, Jaime.”_

“Damn. Wench—” His weak protest was cut off by her kiss.

 _“Fuck me, please,”_ she begged, clutching at his face. She glanced at the oven. “How long do we have before dinner gets burned?”

Jaime groaned and dropped his forehead on hers. “Six minutes. But the condoms are in the bedroom. So. . .four minutes?”

She nodded frantically. “Please get them. I’m already wet.”

He kissed her hard on the mouth then kicked off his trousers and boxers. She laughed as the back of his shirt flapped behind him as he dashed to the bedroom, exposing his ass. She force her unsteady legs toward the couch, where she unclipped the garters from the stockings. Then she removed her panties.

She had barely noticed the appetizers on the table when Jaime returned. He swept her up in a wild, hungry kiss then in his arms, putting her on top of him as he fell on the couch.

She kept kissing him, sucking on the tip of his ear as he struggled to open the foil packet. She helped him then, pinching the reservoir tip as she put the condom on him. She would have rubbed his cock if he had not grabbed her hips then shoved her down.

“Jaime,” she breathed as his cock speared her. She tried to squirm, but he gave her no time to adjust. A hard had grabbed her by the chin then he ate at her mouth. He thrust hard inside her, the ribbed texture of the condom dragging a soundless scream from her mouth.

She hugged him tightly to her chest, whimpering from the force of his thrusts and his kisses all over her throat. While an arm held her by the waist, a hand imprisoned her breast. His touch burned through the wool, the silk. She grabbed him by the hair to take his mouth back, shoving her tongue harshly between his lips. He growled and gave one slobbery kiss after another.

Suddenly, he turned and tossed her on the couch. Her cry was cut off by another hard kiss, and she drank it up. She buried her fingers in the soft fluff of his hair before sliding under the edge of his shirt to touch skin and muscle. He cupped her under the ass, angling her higher. She gasped as his cock slid deeper in her pussy.

Shouts left them as they hit their release at the same time. Jaime slammed a fist on the couch. Brienne’s nails burrowed in the taut flesh of his ass. “Jaime, Jaime, Jaime,” she moaned, kissing the firm line of his throat as she felt the warmth of semen despite the latex between them. Her eyes were milky blue when his gaze returned to her. Tender and soft, he looked at her and smoothed the sweat from her eyebrow, tendrils of pale hair. Despite the heaviness of their bodies following orgasm, their kiss was deep and searing.

The ringing timer made them groan. Jaime dragged her lower lip between his teeth as he pulled away, glaring in the direction of the kitchen as she giggled. She ran a hand down his chest before he cursed and slipped out of her. She watched his ass disappear behind the counter as he went to the ovens. Slowly, she sat up, looking at him open the door and take out a huge pan.

She was sweetly sore from the rough fucking. She rubbed her cunt to ease the slight discomfort and sat up. Savory, meaty aroma wafted through her nose. She sniffed appreciatively. “What masterpiece is that this time?”

He grinned at her before opening the other door. “My pork loin. And this,” he added, pulling out a smaller container. “Is my apple tart.”

She stood up, walking gingerly. She went to him, running a hand through the mess of her hair before picking up his trousers. A smile pulled at the corners of her lips as Jaime continued to go around the kitchen in just his shirt and socks, his cock free and dangling. Her mouth watered. She had to will her eyes away from his cock to look at the food.

“That really looks delicious,” she said sincerely. The pork loin had a beautiful, golden and brown crust, surrounded by apples, onions and threads of herbs. The apple tart was arranged in a rose pattern, showing that the slices were all sliced thinly and evenly. Jaime passed in front her again, his cock swinging between his thighs as he walked.

“I can’t wait to eat it.” 

Jaime looked at her. “I can’t wait to eat you, wench.”

Though her cunt was still tender, a telltale moisture began to gather. She blushed and stammered, “Ah, can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure. Through the bedroom. You look fantastic.” He opened a drawer, pulling out forks and knives. “I should fuck you often.”

Gods, she was a fucking puddle over his filthy compliments. She held out his trousers and boxers. “A castration would make that a most frustrating dream, I think. Care to put these on?”

“I’m touched you care so much about my cock.”

“That. And also you.”

They looked at each other. Jaime took a deep breath and she wondered what she’d said that could have him. . .well, she didn’t know how to read that expression. He seemed troubled, surprised and moved all at once. She tossed him the rest of his clothes and he caught them.

She had to go through the bedroom to get to the bathroom. Expecting a bachelor’s space with dark, modern furniture, she was surprised to see an old-fashioned metal bed. The wallpaper was an antique damask print in soft, pale gray. A writing desk by the window was filled with books on restaurant management, recipes, and even food security and distribution. On his nightstand was an old, faded hardbound about herbs, she discovered while thumbing through it. There were scrawls in blue ink and sticky notes. As she went to the bathroom, she spied a photo of Jaime as a young boy atop a dresser. He sat in the middle of an elaborate train set. She smiled at that.

In the bathroom, she fixed her messy hair, removed her smeared lipstick and put a fresh coat. When she returned to the living room, Jaime was sitting on the couch and full dressed.

And twirling her panties around his finger.

She held out a hand. “I need those back.”

He smirked and fisted the cotton. “Trust me, wench. You won’t be needing them tonight.”

She lost the battle against the blush overwhelming her cheeks. He patted the space next to him. “Come here. Let me feed you.”

“I’m stealing your underwear next time,” she declared, sitting next to him. The coffee table was now laden with food. The pork loin, now in a clear glass serving dish, had been cut and ready to be served. The apple tart had been transferred to a plate too. The appetizers, she finally saw, consisted of stuffed cherry peppers and mushrooms.

“Feel free to raid my closet anytime,” he said, putting food on her plate. As he poured apple sauce on the pork loin, she plucked a stuffed mushroom from the plate.

“This is good,” she said, reaching for another.

“Wish I can take credit for that. I cheated and bought them,” he said, looking and sounding sheepish. It was cute.

“From where?” She took a cherry pepper next. Her eyes closed. _“Oh. Yum.”_

When she opened her eyes, Jaime was looking at her as if she was _yum._ She swallowed and took the plate form him. “They’re good too.”

“I got them from the same place as the bourbon pork.” As he spoke, he was arranging a plate of the food for himself. He suddenly paused at the same moment that Brienne froze, remembering. He cursed under his breath and looked at her. “I’m sorry, wench. I didn’t mean. . .”

“You didn’t,” she reassured him. 

She waited for him to put food on his plate before taking a bite of the pork loin. Her eyes widened from the explosion of flavor and texture. The meat was firm yet also tender and steeped with spices and the sweetness. She groaned as the flavors got more intense with each bite. She blushed from Jaime’s smirk.

“I’ve never had anything so good,” she gasped after swallowing. She cut off another piece of the meat and moaned once it was in her mouth. “ _Jaime._ Gods. Oh my.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He was watching her eat. Following every moment of her lips, every swallow.

“More than like!” She sipped the wine and cut another piece for herself. “You’re a wonderful cook, Jaime. You really are. You’ve heard it before, but I just want you to know.”

She wasn’t sure but something in Jaime’s smile faltered. But it happened so quickly she clearly imagined it. She smiled and ate more. This was the best meal she’d had in her life.

*******

“How is it that your favorite food is dick-in-the-wench?” Brienne asked as Jaime forked a sliver off the apple tart then held it to her mouth. He watched as she leaned closer, opening her lips. He deliberately smeared some of the pastry on the corner of her lips. His eyes softened as she chewed, clearly oblivious to how he’d marked her with food.

After clearing away the rest of the plates to put in the dishwasher and the leftover appetizers and pork loin in the fridge, Jaime and Brienne were now enjoying dessert. They had kicked off their shoes, Jaime had undone the two top buttons of his shirt. They slouched on the couch with a plate of apple tart resting on his flat stomach and Brienne sitting with her legs curled up.

“What’s wrong with dick-in-the-wench?” He asked, helping himself to the dessert.

“Nothing. I’ve just never heard of anyone declaring it a favorite. Let alone a chef like you. I mean, honestly, I was expecting something like a casserole. Or a steak.”

He chuckled and cut a piece off, holding it out to her again. “Wench, are you telling me I have, shall we say, surprisingly pedestrian tastes?”

“No!” She exclaimed. She tried to take the fork, but he pulled his hand back.

“Come on. You know I like putting things in your mouth. Open up.”

She blushed and did as he asked. He smeared on the other corner of her mouth again. This time, she felt it and licked it off. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just surprised, that’s all. And it’s been forever since I’ve had dick-in-the-wench. You can’t really buy it anywhere.”

“There’s no way to make that gourmet. But it’s my favorite. Favorite foods are often tied to good memories. Childhood, mainly,” he observed. He finished off the dessert and put the plate away. “My mom made dick-in-the-wench. Every winter. I loved coming home and having the house smell of sausages. And then biting into that mushy batter. . .”

He used to look forward to dinner until they became occasions for abuse from Tywin. As he reminisced, he spoke of his mom was the best cook in the world. She always used whatever ingredients were around, mixed them up to make the most divine yet simple dishes. She never used instant or pre-packed anything.

“She did magic in the kitchen,” he said to Brienne, caressing he knee. “And to me that has always been the mark of a good cook. Knowing which ingredients go together and even breaking the rules, and having the dishes turn out great. She made other things. Wonderful, delicious things but dick-in-the-wench has always been my favorite. It’s the last thing she made before she died.”

“I’m so sorry. She seems so amazing. Someone you’ll love easily.”

He sighed and looked in her calm blue eyes. “Your mom. How old were you?”

She bit her lip. “I never met her. She died giving birth to me.”

Jaime stared at her, shocked. She nodded, understanding his reaction. Besides sharing Selwyn, their lives had quite paralleled each other’s.

“Selwyn never resented you,” he said.

“No. There was only love from dad. But he made sure I got to know my mom. He never made me feel bad about what happened to her.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It was nobody’s fault. Same with my Mom.” Jaime watched as she took his hand and kissed it. “I had to grow up a lot to realize that rather than grieving for her, my Dad turned to blame and hate. I’ve always thought it was the easier choice for him. But then I met Selwyn.” He sounded wistful. “It was so easy for him. Loving you. He never said the words to me, but I felt it every time he talked about you.”

“He did not. Oh, gods.”

He grinned. “He did. You made him so fucking proud, wench. He told me about your MBA. He showed me the article about you. He had it displayed in his office. The few times we met. . .I think I tried to forget you because I was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“You were a reminder Selwyn was not my dad. You were someone he loved without question. I was just. . .”he shrugged. “I’ve wished many times he was my father.”

“He loved you. He was more of a father to you than yours.” She looked away, flushing. “But it’s true. He believed in you so much, Jaime.”

“He’s the only one. Until you.”

As he spoke, he moved closer to her, nudging her legs open. She rested on the arm of the couch, looking up at him. He pushed her skirt up, baring her stocking-clad thighs then the naked bad of pale, freckled skin. Her cunt. Her wild, untamed, hairy cunt that still smelled deliciously of fucking. He felt her stuttered breathing against his cheek as his fingers parted the soft, slick folds. He fucked her gently, just enjoying the searing clutch of her channel around his fingers.

He looked at her, drinking in her half-closed eyes and open mouth. He licked the crumbs around it. “It’s a good thing we don’t share blood,” she whispered. “Otherwise, this is incest.”

He chuckled and kissed her. “What’s wrong with fucking your brother?”

“You’re sick.” She made that sputtering motorboat sound that was almost as sexy as her deep, husky voice. She pulled him down for a kiss. He slipped his tongue in her mouth. She tasted of wine. Apples. Spices and woman. He hummed in pleasure through the rest of their kiss before reluctantly pulling his fingers out. He softened the kiss as he pulled her up. She stared at him, question in her eyes as he stood up. He had to slow things down. Try for some control over the feverish desire coursing through him.

He smiled to reassure her, thumb caressing her swollen lips. She touched his belt and he stilled her hand.

What he would give to fuck her soft, soft mouth. He told her by touch to raise her arms. She blushed, realizing what he wanted.

He bent to pull at the edge of her dress. He took his time at first but when it hid her face, he began to hurry. Tossing it away, he looked at her, now left with a slip. Seven above, but she had freckles _everywhere._ He gazed at her nipples straining against the silk before removing the final layer.

For the first time since Selwyn’s funeral, he can have a good, long look at her body.

Brienne in garters and stockings was a carnal buffet. The freckles covering her from forehead all the way to her toes reminded him of strawberries and cream. She had small tits, very slight rises of flesh yet with long, plump nipples. The first time he saw them, they were wafer-pink. Now that they were stiff and tight, they reminded him of cherries.

He took his time slipping to his knees between her thighs. And slowed further as he nuzzled her neck, smelling and almost kissing her. She really smelled like an herb garden in the summer. Fresh. Innocent. Like a maiden, he thought, squeezing her tits. She gasped and he was quick to catch it in his mouth. He met the thrust of her tongue and pinched her nipples to make her moan.

He drew more moans as he tongued her nipple. She arched and clutched at his hair. He grinned, thinking that the longer he was with her, the higher the risk of early baldness. He pulled the nipple between his teeth, sharpening the draw as it tightened. As she writhed and groaned his name, he kissed the wide valley between her tits before taking another nipple.

She pushed and fisted his shirt, slipping a hand under the collar to get to his skin. He didn’t help her, too lost in the cool, refreshing fragrance of her skin that approached to the secret musk of woman the closer he got to her cunt. He lavished kisses on her flat stomach, hands closing around her straight waist. His hands drifted to her thighs.

Fuck the gods but he could smell nothing else but the rich, hot perfume of a woman thirsting for a long, hard rutting. But there was a sweetness to it. An—there it was again— _innocence._ He tucked his hands under her knees and pulled her legs up, showing that she must put her feet on the edge of the couch.

 _“Fuck me,”_ she begged, her voice tight. “Jaime. _Please._ ”

“Won’t you let me taste you first, wench?” He asked, kissing the crease between thigh and cunt. He rubbed his cheek against her pubic hairs. Damn. She smelled mouthwatering down here. “I want more dessert.”

It was sweet how she hesitated before nodding. Jaime swept her thighs wider apart and pushed his tongue between the hairy folds.

She shrieked, thighs instinctively tightening around his head. He shoved them away none too gently. The _smell_ of her. _Her_ taste. _Fuck._ Like the most luscious dessert. She was soaked. _Pouring._ He suckled her clit, thumbing her labia wide open and ignoring her cries that it was too much. Too much? She fucking had _no idea_ what too much was. Surrounded by her musk, and now lapping up her syrupy juices while trying to stop his cock from exploding— _she was fucking too much._ The untamed jungle of hair, the woman and her sexy screams were fucking too much and he was never getting enough. _Never._

He buried his tongue, his face. If he could wear her cunt he would. He heard the rake of her nails on the cushions before trying to grab his shoulders. Refusing to unlatch his lips from her clit, he wove his fingers through hers, pushed. He swallowed a fat, sticky drop of her syrup as she put his hands on her tits, inviting him to squeeze.

The near-violence of her trembling body told her orgasm was close. Jaime pushed his tongue inside her cunt, his nose nudging at her clit. A taste of her hot essence and she screamed, thrusting sharply against his face. He gripped her tits, twisting her nipples. Another cry left her. Her cunt expelled a stream straight into his mouth. As her body relaxed on the cushion, he licked her clit, her folds in slow, careful swipes, gently bringing her down. She moaned and sighed from his ministrations, her hands falling. He kissed up her stomach, soothed her nipples with tongue before pausing to look at her face.

Blissed out, her stare unfocused, he thought she was beautiful. He kissed her gently, wincing when her hands touched the fresh scratches on his shoulder. His wench was a wildcat.

“What,” she asked, licking her lips as he freed her mouth briefly, “was _that_?”

He smiled. “First course.”

Then he picked her up from the couch, enjoying the slight confusion in her stare as he looped her arm around his shoulders. He tucked an arm under her legs. She stiffened. “Jaime, no. I’m too heavy.”

He ignored her and hoped she didn’t notice how he staggered under her weight. She spoke the truth. But there was no way he was letting her go.

“It’s the pork loin, wench. And the apple tart. And oathporker,” he said, forcing his legs to bring her to the bedroom. A sack of potatoes might be lighter. “But do you know it’s my favorite thing? Putting things in your mouth?”

******

After Jaime put her on the bed, Brienne turned on her hands and knees. She watched him undress over her shoulder.

He wrenched off his shirt, exposing golden a muscled golden chest covered in hair. “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded, reaching for his belt. “Turn around. I don’t want to fuck you without those eyes on me.”

“But in this position, you can go deeper,” she said. He unzipped. Oh, she had to turn around for this.

“How big?” He asked, lowering his trousers and boxer briefs. Brienne’s eyes widened as his cock pointed straight at her. The foreskin had pulled back to expose the gleaming head.

“What?” She forced herself to look away from his cock. “What’s how big? What are you talking about?”

“The size of the biggest cock you’ve had. Have I not gone deep enough?”

She blushed, watching him open a drawer to take out the box of condoms. Expecting him to withdraw only one packet, he shocked her when he brought the entire box to bed. It was a twelve-pack!

Jaime, she discovered, was long lines and lean muscles but packed with strength. She marveled at the even golden tone of his skin. The cheeks of his ass were high and, from her touch, firm. They were as golden as the rest of him and reminded her of buns. Warm, toasty, golden buns. His arms bulged with muscles before tapering into elegant wrists. As he climbed in beside her, she noticed the scars on his wrists.

“It’s not that,” she said as he tore a square and stretched out beside her. “I’m—I’m more used to that position instead of being on my back.”

He frowned, resting his cheek on a fist. She would laugh at how relaxed he seemed except for the massive boner between his thighs. “Is it more comfortable? Fucked from behind?”

“Um. . .it’s what I’m more familiar with.” Now was not the time to tell him that despite having had a couple of boyfriends, they had preferred to fuck with her facing away. Each had promised she would like the position better than the usual missionary. That they could fuck her “deeper.”

She still had to know the exact depth of deeper. And as for liking it better than missionary, she had almost never been fucked while on her back. With Renly, they sometimes mixed it up—with her on top. He had a bad back. When it didn’t bother him so much, he took her from behind.

She kissed Jaime around the face. Her legs were weak. Hells, _all_ of her was weak and pretty much used when he’d only given her tongue. Her cunt still rippled from the aftershocks of her orgasm, but the swell of arousal was returning with hot vengeance. She lay half on top of him, moaning in his mouth as he hugged her.

“Will you fuck me now?” She asked, kissing down his neck, his chest. She nuzzled the golden hairs there, enjoying how they dragged and scratched her sensitive nipples. Gods, he smelled like heaven when laced with sex and sweat. Sexy sex scent, she thought, taking one of his nipples in her mouth. She hummed from the taste of salt and man.

She climbed on top of him, for once not too conscious of her size despite being taller and being heavier. He groaned, spearing his fingers through her hair as she tongued his other nipple. “You taste better than anything you’ve put in my mouth, Jaime,” she whispered, giving him a quick smile before licking his abs.

He chuckled and fisted what he could of her chin-length hair. She yelped softly but he kissed her roughly on the mouth. “Wench,” he whispered, taking hold of her neck to still her. “I’m going to fuck you. But I won’t be doing it in the way you’re _familiar_ with.” He spat out the word as if it was vile.

And then he was off the bed, taking something from his trousers. Brienne sat up, frowning as he pulled out her panties. He smirked at her, took hold of the corner of the miniscule garment and tore it in two.

_“Jaime!”_

He shrugged innocently. “I did say you’re never needing them tonight. Spread your legs.”

Despite her confusion, she did it. She flushed, her eyes widening. He was going to tie her ankles. Keep her spread-eagled. She should be alarmed from the newness of it. Instead, her desire spiked towards a fever. Her cunt was _wet_. Jaime crawled between her legs, pausing to sniff her cunt deeply.

 _“Fucking hell,_ ” he groaned. “I swear you smell like you want my cock all the time.”

“It’s _you_ ,” she gasped, watching his blond head fall between her thighs. She squealed from the lash of his tongue. “ _I want you_. You, Jaime. _You_.”

She moaned and quivered from his tongue fucking her. Gods, she was so fucking tender that if he did it a few more times she was going to come. But he continued crawling between her legs, putting a hand on her stomach to coax her to lie down. She opened her mouth, welcoming his crushing kiss laced with the secret taste of her cunt. His tongue was heavily slick, drawing a blush from her. She was tasting herself.

As his tongue fucked her mouth, he drew one of her arms over her head. She gasped ad snatched it back. “Seriously?” She was panting. He smirked. “Bondage?”

“Not my usual kink, wench. But with you. . .” He grabbed her by the jaw. His kiss was bruising but delicious. She moaned as his cock pressed on her spread folds. “Let’s just say you’re very inspiring in that area.”

“Oh, gods.” Despite what she said, she offered him her wrist. He grinned and looped the first half of her ruined panties around it. “I should have known. The face of an angel. An ass that high. A cock that can fuck a skyscraper to get to me. I should have known there was a downside,” she said dramatically, raising her other arm. He laughed and tied the remains of her panties around it.

“Do they hurt? Too tight?” He asked, kissing the bluish veins on her arm.

She shook her head. She giggled as he kissed her armpit. “That’s nice,” she murmured. As he nuzzled her neck and covered it with kisses, she sighed dreamily. “Will you fuck me like this every time?”

“I will fuck you in every way possible, wench. All the time if I could. I want you to feel wrong when my cock isn’t inside you.” His lips closed around her kiss-swollen nipple and sucked harshly. She mewled, trying to turn but hindered by her bound arms. The bed rattled against the wall. As she gasped from the rasp of his beard on the softer skin of her tits, he continued, “I want you wet. All the time. Wet from thinking of me. Wet and desperate for my cock.”

“You,” she sounded almost tearful. _“Jaime, I want you.”_

His response was to take her other tit in his mouth. She was so small he could close his entire mouth around the mound, even suckle it. She wrapped her legs around his waist, crossing her ankles to hold him tighter. She wanted _him._ Not just his cock. Wanted more than his kisses. _Jaime._ Jaime with his sarcastic comments, his lewd compliments, his aggressive pushback to her suggestions. Jaime who held her hand and cooked for her. Jaime, the one who brought light to her darkness. Her arms strained from the bonds as she wished to hold him, clutch at him with everything she had. Instead she could only hug him with her legs. Can only receive his kisses.

“Fuck me,” she begged. Those two words that spoke what she wanted in body yet also stood for what her soul craved. _“Jaime.”_

At that moment, he freed her tit slowly until her nipple popped out. His eyes were wildfire, burning through flesh and bone to see her—the real her. For the first time in her life, Brienne was not terrified to be seen as she was. She was ugly. Too tall. Too big. Too much of everything that had to be cut down, and in the most cruel and hurtful of ways.

Jaime saw her. Her heart hammered in her chest. He saw her as she was. He always had.

There was no cutting. There will never be hurt—never deliberately.

She shook her head when he began moving away from her. He kissed her with surprising gentleness, remind her about the condom. But he only loosened her legs around him. He didn’t want her to completely remove them. He tore the packet with his teeth and then slid it on. She spread her legs wide, blushing from the squelch of her cunt. She smelled the wet scent of her arousal too. 

He slanted his mouth over hers while sinking his cock in her cunt. There would always be kisses, thought. _More kisses than she could count_. Desire. As his cock surged long and hard in her, it fed the hope that somewhere down the line, there might be care too.

He palmed her tits, dragged his mouth down her throat to lick where she pulsed before returning to her mouth. His hands roamed her body, igniting fires on every inch. She felt human and divine at once, naked and powerful. Her mouth was swollen, her jaw beginning to hurt from the many, many kisses exchanged but she could not get enough. Will never get enough—not his kisses, his caresses, his hairs abrading her nipples and tickling the inner skin of her thighs. His emerald eyes more beautiful by the hour. His voice and his laugh no longer music in the background but the rhythm of her life.

“Jaime,” she moaned, writhing frantically against him. She turned to suck the sweat from his shoulder. Again her arms struggled to be free. She cried out from frustration. She wanted to be with him. Really be with him. He grunted and chased the aggressive rhythm she set.

“ _Brienne._ Seven hells.”

“I need to come. I want to come with you,” she whimpered before biting the firm flesh of his shoulder.

He shouted against her neck, ramming his cock hard inside her. She tightened her legs around him, moaning from her release, from the taste of his sweat and blood.

******

There was fucking. And then _this_.

Jaime grinned. He and Brienne lay on their stomachs, heads turned to each other. She wore a soft, smile. The rest of her face was soft—even a blind man would now she was fucked very, very well.

“I have a new nickname for you,” he said, pleased when she took his hand to nibble on his fingers. “Wildcat Wench.”

She licked his middle finger. _“You wouldn’t dare.”_

He laughed. Hells, when had he ever laughed with a woman? At a woman, yes but never with one. There was no question that he’d bedded many, many beautiful women. But none of them came close to Brienne. Some of them had blue eyes but no one had as eyes as blue or bluer than hers. Some had full lips but never as thick or as soft as hers.

And perhaps the most glaring difference of all—she desired _him._ Not because of his reputation or what he could do in the kitchen. Not because he looked like half a god even on his worst day. She looked at him and saw him, really saw him.

That was going to beat every pretty face or a pair of porn star tits by at least a mile.

Brienne moved until her lips fell on his shoulder fresh with her bite. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She climbed half on top of him. She was going to cut off his oxygen supply, but he didn’t care. She felt so fucking good like this. He felt good like this. With her. 

“Keep kissing it better, then,” he whispered.

“I shall,” she agreed. “I don’t like hurting you. I don’t want you hurt, period.”

He closed his eyes, lulled to sweet bliss as her lips soothed the bite on his shoulder. She lavished it with kisses, tongue, as if she truly believed a kiss would erase the mark. He spread his arms to pillow hands under his cheek as he felt her rise on her knees. The hairs of her cunt brushed his ass as she transferred her lips to his other shoulder. The one that still stung from her scratches.

But she didn’t just kiss the marks her passion had left on his body. She just kissed him everywhere she wanted and that was more than fine. A lot more than fine. Her soft kisses were drugging yet also ignited his desire. He smiled as she tongued the long length of his spine, nibbled on the defined lines of muscle above his buttocks. When her breath warmed the divide of his ass, he groaned. He was getting hard.

“I also scratched you here.” She sounded surprised.

“You did, wench.” He murmured. He thrust his ass to her face. “Kiss it better?”

He sighed as he felt the firm pucker of her lips. Then she startled him by grasping a cheek and tonguing the scratch. He burst out laughing. “Stop! Fuck, that tickles!”

“Oh no, no,” she was laughing too, and had no compunction using her superior weight against him. Jaime howled as she licked and pecked his ass.

They tussled. The bed squeaked and squealed under their battling bodies. Sheets dragged off the corners. Pillows fell. Jaime managed to turn, letting out a yelp as Brienne’s hand landed hard on his cock. She squeaked an apology and retracted her hand.

“Now you have to kiss it better.” He pretended to sound like he was in pain. He threw an arm over his eyes.

“Uh-huh. Really. Kiss it better, you say?” Brienne wasn’t fooled. He snuck a look and saw she lay between his legs.

And looking _very_ hungry.

He removed his arm from his face, all pretense gone. “Kiss it _a lot_ better.”

‘”Honesty,” she remarked, taking hold of his cock. Her eyes were very blue and bright. “Is a fucking turn-on.”

Jaime stiffened. Fortunately, Brienne’s mouth wrapping around his cock dragged him from his conscience.

He sighed. Groaned. Her mouth was a wet, warm dream come to life shaped for his cock. His eyes closed from the sensual glide of her hand on the bared shaft before rubbing his foreskin over it. Wet kisses and wetter licks bathed the head. Her hair brushed his thighs, introducing another sensation.

He opened his eyes and saw her brilliant, sapphire gaze focused on him. The breath locked in his throat as he drowned in their silvery gleam. Her mouth advanced further down his cock, lips and tongue pulling him to heaven after heaven that grew wet and wetter. He smoothed her hair back, wanting to see only her eyes and her full lips around his cock. Those lips that dragged him deep in her throat as if to take it from him.

 _“Brienne.”_ In the whisper of her name he poured the depths of his need.

She opened her mouth wide. Her teeth were big. Some were crooked but that long, pink tongue of hers. Definitely one of the sexiest, naughtiest things he’d ever seen. His cock lengthened even more, stretching past from the clutch of the foreskin. She licked her lips, looking at the size of him as if it was a steep, impossible climb.

“Too much?” He asked. Shit. He sounded weak.

A small smile touched her lips. “You’re the perfect size, Jaime.”

 _“Fuck!”_ He cried out as she opened her mouth to wrap around his cock. Wide-eyed, he could only watch as her head bobbed up and down. He shouted another curse at the ceiling, his hands taking hold of his hair as she pulled his cock roughly in her mouth, down her throat. Long, freckled fingers grasped him by the root.

Fucking Seven Hells. _Fucking Seven Heavens._ He fucking didn’t deserve this. This was too much. Too fucking good and he was a fucking, lying bastard—

_Conscience be damned._

At the very moment Brienne paused to catch her breath, Jaime exploded right in her face.

******

Someday, she would get old. She might get senile. But she highly doubted if she was going to forget _anything_ about this night.

Jaime licked the last of semen from her face. His lips drifted back to her mouth for a kiss. Her face was probably the reddest it had been. She kissed him back, reveling in the dirty pleasure of him sharing the taste of his semen with tongue. He twined his fingers through hers, dragging her hand over their heads as their tongues sparred and tangled.

They were still holding hands when their kisses slowed and eventually stopped. They lay facing each other. He had a thigh resting between her legs. Every time she moved, even when she just breathed, her cunt rubbed against him. It made him smile.

She cradled his hand in both of hers, inspecting the scars in the faint light of the bedside lamp. They were faint, whitish scrawls on his skin.

“What happened here?” She asked, gently pressing a long scar on the inside of his wrist. Jaime moved closer to see what she was referring to.

“Ah. That was hot caramel. It spilled.”

It was silly because she knew he was no longer hurt. Still, she kissed it.

She turned his wrist, noticed a flat, sketchy line. “And this one?”

“The edge of a hot skillet. I wasn’t looking.”

Another kiss. Because she was too intent on thoughts about his past pains and their scars, she didn’t notice how his eyes softened.

She looked at his fingers next and noticed something odd about his middle finger. She looked at him questioningly and he chuckled. Again he moved closer. She sighed as his cock nudged at her cunt.

“Remember how you’re taught to fold your fingers over whatever meat or vegetable you’re cutting to protect your fingers? Well, that came from me not doing that. Lost part of my fingertip. There was fucking blood everywhere. The teacher yelled at me.”

“He shouldn’t have done that,” she said, sickened by the image and the pain he must have felt. “You didn’t know any better.”

As she kissed it, Jaime said, “Cooking school is not for the faint of heart, wench. It’s sink or swim. Either you’re there to learn and go through the grinder or just quit and go home.” He looked at his scars. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Remembering her dad loaned him the money for tuition, she murmured, “Dad would have understood.”

After a moment, he said, “Yeah. He would. But he was the only one to believe in me at that time, wench. I couldn’t disappoint him. I didn’t want to.”

“Jaime,” she looked in his eyes. “You know you can trust me, right?”

He nodded. Slowly.

“I just. . .don’t forget that, okay?” She didn’t know exactly what was going on with him but it was clear he carried a burden. A great burden. Whether it was lingering fears about the re-branding The Sapphire Patisserie or something else, she hoped he would trust her enough to tell.

“There’s nothing that can be forgotten about you, wench.” He pulled her in his arms, but he ended up resting his head between her tits. She kissed his sweaty hair. He still smelled wonderful.

“Tell me about this,” he said, stroking her waist then reaching under to touch her lower back. She blushed through her smile. She turned on her stomach to allow him a better look at her tattoo.

“It’s an Evenstar,” she said, loving how his fingers traced the points of the design, as if he was inscribing it on her skin again. “Do you know that children’s story, the legend of the Evenstar?”

He shook his head. He hugged her around the waist. “Will you tell me?”

“My dad said my mom would tell it to me when she was pregnant. It’s about this little star who was always complaining about having to be first to appear in the night sky. One day her mother, the moon, pulled her aside. She was expecting another reprimand. She would much rather play and preferred to be last in the sky, or to never be in the sky at all. But the moon told her that in being first, she cast light in the darkness, not just in the sky but in the souls of the lost. She could be their guiding light. Their hope. From that point on, she liked being first in the sky, knowing that someone out there could use her light to find the way home.”

As she shared this tale, she saw Jaime take a deep breath. His eyes seemed to water. She waited for him to say something. Perhaps it was about his mother. Perhaps he would give a hint of this burden she had sensed from him in the very beginning. Instead, he said nothing.

She moved, shifting to her back and opening her arms. His smile was grateful as he returned to the circle she offered. He put his head between her tits, pressed a kiss on one of her nipples. She kissed his hair, nuzzling it despite being a sweaty mess.

“Wench?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you have any plans tomorrow night?”

She couldn’t help but smile, already sensing what he was going to ask. “What do you have in mind?”

“More like this, of course. I told you,” he said, settling more comfortably in her arms. He hugged her. “I’ll never get my fill of fucking you.”

Brienne felt the exact moment he fell asleep. She kissed him on the forehead and slept too, her arms firm and protective around him.

She didn’t wake up until hours later. She squinted at the half-closed blinds. The gray light of the early morning slid between the slats. Yawning, she stretched.

“Jaime?” She murmured sleepily. She rolled to his side of the bed. It wasn’t very warm. Frowning, she raised her head from the pillow, looking around. “Jaime?”

She turned. Something crackled and rubbed her ass. She felt underneath and found a piece of paper taped under it. Yawning again, she read Jaime’s scrawl. _Breakfast of champion fuckers in the kitchen._

“He’s gotta be kidding.” She groaned catching the time in the clock. It was only six-fifteen. As much as she would prefer to stay in bed for another hour, she couldn’t resist looking in on Jaime. Did he always get up so fucking early? The man had spent half the night fucking her. Wasn’t he exhausted? She certainly was. And could use a hot bath too.

Shivering from the cold morning, she wrapped the comforter around her while looking around for clothes. Only her tattered panties made it to the bedroom. Jaime’s clothes from last night were nowhere to be found. She yawned making her way to the bathroom. As she peed, she noticed the robe hanging at the door. She put it on.

As soon as she left the room, the aroma of warm chocolate, butter and vanilla greeted her. And coffee too. Feeling a bit more awake, she went to the kitchen.

Sure enough, Jaime was there, dressed in last night’s clothes and with a red apron around his waist. He did _not_ look exhausted.

He looked happy. Eager. Brienne stood by the doorway, quietly watching him using a pastry bag to squeeze a dot of pink cream over small white mounds on a tray. His arms were coated with either sugar or flour—she couldn’t tell until she smelled or tasted him. There a steak of pink over his eyebrow. Brienne hid a smile behind her hand. Besides looking happy, he looked at home, content. And so fucking adorable and sexy. 

Jaime finished squeezing the pink cream on a row and moved to the next. That was when he noticed her. “Wench!” His smile lit up the entire apartment. Without missing a beat, he continued with the task. “Have a seat.”

“Aren’t you tired?” She asked, carefully sitting on a stool to watch him. _Oh._ Her backside was sore. She parked her chin on her fist.

“Nah. Not when you’ve inspired me.” He moved to the third row.

“Inspired you? How?” She looked at the food. The smell of chocolate was strongest here, as well as the hint of vanilla and something fruity. She licked her lips looking at the little white mounds coming to life with just a dollop of pink from Jaime’s hands. “Wow. These look great. What are they?”

“Ah, wench. You of all people should know right away.” His grin was smug and all-knowing. Brienne shook her head and yawned again.

“I honestly don’t. I’ve never seen anything like them before.” She said as he finished. She picked up one. “May I?”

Jaime put away the pastry bag and nodded. “Go ahead. Tell me what you think.”

“This is pretty,” she said. “Oh, it’s a truffle. Truffles in the morning after. Some guys do pancakes but you take it up several notches, Jaime.” She inspected the dessert. “I like how it’s flecked—they look like freckles?”

“Frozen raspberries. Say, are you allergic to anything? It has chestnuts. Sorry. Should have told you earlier.”

“No. No allergies. ” She took a bite. Immediately, she smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “Gods, Jaime. This is fucking incredible. Wow.” She grabbed another one and took another bite. “Oh. My. _God_.” 

“I’m glad you think so. You inspired them, wench.” He started undoing his apron.

She blushed, pausing in her chewing. “I did?” Her voice was muffled because her mouth was full.

“Yeah! Come on. Don’t you recognize them? I’ll give you a hint.” He pretended to think hard, screwing his eyes tightly shut as he rubbed his temples. “I’d bet they’re sore.”

“What? You have a headache?”

“No, wench.” He opened his eyes. His impatience was obvious, but his dimpled smile told he was enjoying the game too. “That’s your clue. _They_. Are. _Sore_.”

Despite her confusion, she blushed. “Um, Jaime. You’re huge—you’re the biggest cock I’ve had—but I can tell you for a fact that you didn’t reach my ovaries. Not your penis anyway. There’s no way. Same with your swimmers. So I wouldn’t think they’re sore.”

“I know your pussy’s sore, wench. I fucked you hard.” He sounded very proud about that. As she scowled, he went on, “And I do know where your ovaries are. Come on. A pair that’s sore.”

Brienne looked at the desserts before her. Mounds coated in white chocolate flecked with chestnuts and raspberries. She frowned at the pink dot on top.

A pair that’s sore. As she shifted for a more comfortable position on the stool, the robe rubbed on her nipples. She grimaced from the burn—

“ _Jaime!_ Don’t tell me my tits inspired this!” She shrieked, her eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

“Oh yeah. They fucking did! Also because you woke me up at four ordering me to lick them!”

“I did _what_?”

Jaime gave her a look. “ _Wench_. You nudged and kicked me. I was dreaming of fucking you when your talking and kicks woke me up. You kept saying my name. You _begged_ me to lick your nipples.” He grinned and leered at her tits through the robe. “I was more than happy to oblige.”

“Oh fucking hells!” Brienne smacked a hand over her forehead. “I talk in my sleep!”

“Ah.” Jaime said slowly. “Well, next time I’d prefer you awake. But you kept kicking me. Said you won’t stop until I do it. I thought you were awake. You nearly unmanned me.”

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“It stopped as soon as I had your nipple in my mouth. Then I couldn’t sleep so I thought to make this.” He gestured at the truffles. He suddenly yawned. “I’m calling them Nipples of the Maiden.”

“You are not!”

“But wench it’s either that or Briennes!”

“You are _never_ naming a dessert after me!”

“But you’re very sweet. Prickly and surly most of the time but very sweet where it matters,” he said, looking at her body hungrily. “How sore are you?”

“What?” She scratched her head from the subject change. “Jaime, we can’t call them Nipples—why do you ask how sore I am?”

“I want to fuck you. But if you’re sore, there are other ways.”

“Um, I’m not—“she blushed and drew the robe tighter around her body. “I’m not _that_ sore.”

She couldn’t believe it. Only Jaime could infuriate, flatter and make her head spin in the span of a minute. And have her panting for more. Moisture gathered in her cunt. Make that _wet_ for more.

“You’re not?” So cute how hopeful he looked. She got off the stool and walked around the counter. She took his hand.

“No,” she whispered. “I’m not.”

She pulled his hand through the slit of the robe. A slow, happy smile spread across his face as his fingers found her wet. She was tender, yes. But she wanted him. Really wanted him. He looked more beautiful when happy.

Cupping her cunt, he pulled her close. She met his kiss, opening her mouth and welcoming his tongue. He tasted dry but delicious. She unbuttoned his shirt far enough to slide a hand inside and caress his chest.

“Let’s go back to bed?”

“Oh fucking yeah.” Jaime took two of the—they would debate later the proper name to call them—from the tray. She rolled her eyes as he pulled her by the hand behind him. “I’m gonna need this to compare to your tits, wench. And you’ll see there’s no better name than Nipples of the Maiden.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me take this opportunity to thank catherineflowers for finding my filthy questions entertaining. And for not (yet) blocking me due to TMI details in our chats!
> 
> ******  
> Dick-in-the-wench is my name for Toad In the Hole in this story. And Nipples of the Maiden is Nipples of Venus!
> 
> What is Brienne's gift? Stay tuned!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He looked at her as if begging for whatever alms of mercy she might deign to give. 
> 
> He should never have to beg her. She would give whatever he asked—her body, soul, without question. It was his. The realization should be like flinging cold water to her face. How did it happen? When had she relinquished these? But there was difference between giving and things being a given.

After slow, lazy kisses that built to breathless, furious fucking, Jaime and Brienne fell asleep.

She was the first to wake up. She looked past Jaime’s shoulder and saw from the time on the digital clock she had been asleep for a little over half an hour. Her body felt zapped of bones, the muscles mush. But waking up earlier in the last couple of weeks had changed her body clock.

She should get up, find her clothes and make a quick stop to her apartment to change. She really should. But Jaime.

_Jaime._

It gave her some pleasure that his soft snoring was exhaustion from fucking her. Maybe she shouldn’t be up and about yet, she thought, quietly moving closer to him. His golden hair had fallen over his eyes and nose, so she brushed the locks away. Each tendril seemed to spark like livewire as morning light touched it.

Once she touched hair, she craved more. It was a new experience for her. After fucking, if she didn’t retreat to the other side of the bed, she left. It was rare for her to feel comfortable in other people’s apartments too, no matter the stage of a relationship. She certainly did not indulge gazing at her bedmate, let alone touch. Fucking was something inevitable, she felt, rather than an exercise in intimacy. It felt both with Jaime.

She had also enjoyed herself for the first time. As mushy as her muscles were, she knew there were stars in her eyes.

She touched the hard line of his clavicle, the bulge of muscle on his arm then his chest. She blushed as the hairs tickled her palm, her wrist. He was firm and warm all over. Like a blanket but much sexier, she thought, sniffing him on the neck. Sweat and pastries. The gods had not only blessed Jaime Lannister with good looks. They had bathed him in the best scents too.

Jaime slept with one hand resting near his face and another near her thigh. Brienne looked at the one near his cheek, noticing more scars in the sunlight. Faint, pale lines, or resembling splotches. Because she didn’t want to wake him, she kissed them very lightly.

When the clock indicated it was seven-thirty, Brienne knew she had to go. Reluctantly, she woke up Jaime, apologizing with a kiss on the lips when he stirred and opened his eyes.

“Fucking no,” he groaned, locking his arms around her and pulling her over him. She whimpered through the rough pulls of his lips on her swollen nipples. “Stay here. Don’t go. Fuck the shop, wench. Fuck everything. Stay here. Let’s just fuck.”

With surprising strength, he suddenly tossed her on her back. He caught her mouth in a long, wet kiss. She hugged him tightly, loving his hard body on her. His chest hairs tickled and dragged at her nipples. His cock pressed and nudged at her moistening slit. He was so hard she was sure he could bore a hole in concrete.

“Jaime,” she whispered, managing to pull her lips from his kiss. He kissed down her neck, stroking her tits, her stomach before dragging her arms up and trapping them by her ears. “You have to let me go.” It actually pained her to say the words. “I need to change. I need a shower.”

He shook his head, nuzzling down her neck toward her tits. He kissed a nipple. “We haven’t settled on Nipples of the Maiden yet, wench.”

She giggled and moaned some more as he suckled the swollen tip loudly. Then he raised his head, smiling at her sleepily before capturing her mouth again. She licked him. He tasted of white chocolate truffles. And raspberries. “We can’t have desserts with nipples in the name,” she murmured between kisses. “

“Yes we can,” he gently insisted. “Or we can just call them Briennes. I would love a Brienne.” He pinched her nipple, smirking as she squirmed. “My favorite Briennes, hmm. Do you really not wear bras?”

“Do you think there’s a small enough bra for my tits?” She pointed out, wrapping a leg around his hip.

“Thank the gods no one has bothered to make them. You have lovely tits. Have you been to Dorne?”

She shook her head. He cupped her chin and coaxed her mouth to open. They licked each other.

“If we’re still fucking in the summer, I’m taking you there. They have nude beaches. Your tits would love it. I’ve become a recent convert for tiny pointy tits. Look at these nipples.”

She laughed. “You’ll have to drag me by the hair to a nude bench, Jaime. And I’ll punch you in the balls.”

“A dirty fighter. So fucking sexy.” He settled firmly between her thighs, grinning when she moaned. “Wench,” he sucked on her lower lip. He grinned. “You’re wet again.”

She nodded, blushing. “What are you going to do about it?”

He nodded at the nightstand. “Get me one of those. Quick.”

She laughed softly scrambling for one of those foil packets. Jaime rose on his knees as he opened it with his teeth. She licked her lips staring at his cock. Pink and glistening, it stood high and proud from the golden cluster around it.

Her stiff jaw reminded her of how close it came to unhinging last night when she mouthed him. His meat was the thickest she’d had. She swallowed; the sweetness of truffles lingered, as well as the flavor of his semen.

“I like having you in my mouth,” she whispered, catching his eye.

He groaned as he put the condom on. _“Tonight.”_

She gasped as he grabbed her legs roughly and wrapped them high around his waist. She grabbed the bars on the headboard as his cock slid inside her. She groaned, closing her eyes from the sharp sensation of the ribbed latex combined with the warmth and size of him. She was sore but _soaked_. Her face burned hearing the loud, wet sounds of her cunt stretched and pounded by his cock. When she opened her eyes, he was watching her intently, as if memorizing every freckle on her face, every twitch in her wince. She pulled him down, opening her mouth wide for the invasion of his tongue. He fucked her harder. Her slit squeaked from every push of his cock fighting to wedge deeper inside.

Her legs clung around his waist as she came with a wail. He growled in her ear; her nails had put fresh scratches on his back and shoulder.

“Gods damn you, wench,” he groaned. His breathed hard, swift plumes of air on her cheek and shoulder. “You’re too fuckable for your own good.”

She slapped him weakly on the arm. “Only with you.”

“How many have you fucked?” He demanded, raising his head. A hand grasped her by the chin, pinning her with his eyes. “Because I swear to you, if I’d met your earlier and started fucking you, I would never stop.”

“We _have_ met earlier,” she pointed out, turning to kiss his hand. He caressed her lips. “You were too busy beating eggs. And if you started fucking me, you’d be eating prison slops.” 

He chuckled and she kissed him. He fell back in her arms, moving to mouth her tits. “You have a pussy that won’t let a cock go, wench. I have to fuck you at all hours. Get you a little loose so you won’t castrate me.” Though soft now, he remained inside her.

“No, you’re too big,” she moaned as he pulled at her nipple harshly between his teeth. She turned her head and once again looked at the time. “Shit. Jaime, I really have to go.”

He whined but rolled off her. As she stood naked by the side of the bed taking her garter belt from the bedside lamp, he said, “You can shower here, you know. And you’re welcome to my closet.” His grin was feral and playful. Sitting up, he added, “I can’t have you going around the city without panties, wench.”

“No thanks to you,” she said, finding her stocking at the foot of the bed. But she paused, considering his idea. “Really? You’ll lend me your clothes?”

“Of course. And I have blue stuff too.”

Clutching the garter belt and stocking to her tits, she said, “Well. . .thanks. Yeah. That’s really nice of you. And the shower too. Will you join me?”

She blushed as he stared at her cunt with open lust. “Better not. I’ll just fuck you again.” He sniffed and let out a groan. “Fuck you. Your pussy smells so fucking wet and delicious. How your exes managed to stop fucking you is beyond me. Fucking idiots.”

She leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead. “Jaime, can I let you in on a secret?”

“Sure.” He said, hugging her around the waist. He nuzzled her tits, covered them with little, quick kisses.

She stroked his hair. “Those exes you keep talking about? Not a lot.”

He chuckled and looked up at her. “Idiots.”

“And. . .I didn’t really like fucking them.”

He took her hand and kissed her palm. “They weren’t fucking you properly, I think.”

“No. Some of them knew what a clitoris is,” she admitted, earning a scowl from him. She kissed him again to melt away his pout. It worked. “But you’re the only one I really enjoyed fucking. And if you want more of last night, then. . .I’m yours.”

_Shit._ She shouldn’t have put it that way. All she wanted to say was she loved every minute of fucking him. And other things too. But she didn’t want Jaime to think that there was more. He would run. If she were told the same thing, she would too. Run screaming.

But Jaime’s smile was one of naughty delight. “You’re the tightest I’ve fucked, wench. I won’t let a fucking army stop me from fucking you. I’d go to war for your cunt.”

******

Though the white truffle chocolates (Maiden’s Nipples?) have been out for close to an hour, they remained firm. Jaime was pleased with that and couldn’t help but smile at the pretty picture they made. Rows and rows of mounds flecked with chestnuts and raspberries to simulate the freckles on Brienne’s tits, and topped with a raspberry-flavored swirl. They were the closest to the pink of her nipples. He took one from a row and bit, groaning. Sweet, with just the right firmness. _Just like her tits._

The chocolates made a really decadent breakfast, but it wasn’t a complete meal. Jaime chopped some of his homemade bacon then fresh tomatoes and basil. As they cooked in a pan, he beat eggs in the bowl before pouring it over them. He shook and moved the pan to coax the egg into spreading evenly across, all while gently distributing with a spatula the fillings. The last ingredient was a generous sprinkle of feta cheese.

As he was putting plates on the counter, he saw Brienne’s reflection in the mirror. The mirror mounted on the wall looked right into the bedroom. He paused to watch her rifle in his closet. She was nude.

Her tits had big aureoles and plump nipples—and they were plumper from his kisses and pinches. Her waist was straight rather than curved. She turned, giving him her ass. She had wide hips but they didn’t have a womanly flare. But he remembered her soft skin. Very, very soft skin that covered her thick, hard thighs and muscular legs. She could honestly pass for a man if not for her nipples and the wild, untamed curls of her pussy. Jaime preferred curves on a woman, but Brienne had seriously changed his mind about that.

It was cute how her tits rose with her arms as she put on a white t-shirt. It was snug around her shoulders and ended just below her belly button as a result. He sighed in disappointment as she straightened the t-shirt, covering her tattoo. Then she helped herself into a blue-gray sweater that he thought would make her eyes look more blue. He watched her walked to the dresser, her pussy out. The wet hairs seemed to drip like wet, raw gold down her thighs.

Maybe he shouldn’t have offered his underwear.

In what seemed to have been only the blink of an eye, she had changed his mind about things he used to like in the women he slept with. Brienne in panties, and in his underwear, was a fucking turn-on. He enjoyed removing the garment off her. She had trembled and squirmed, rolled her hips in a manner that was worlds hotter than the loosest hips of a stripper. Sliding that little bit of cotton down her long, long legs was seductive to him.

She picked black boxer briefs that hugged her high flat ass. Next were a pair of formal black socks. He sighed from the flex of muscles in her thighs and calves as she walked back to the closet. She was taller than him, but not by a lot. An inch maybe, or an inch and a half. He hoped she found jeans or trousers that were long enough.

With great reluctance, he turned his attention back to finishing setting up for breakfast. Fuck the gods but his cock wanted to be inside her again. She was tight but soft and felt as slick as butter and sticky like the richest syrup. He would really fuck her at all hours if he could. And other things too. Of course, he preferred her naked for most of their activities even when they didn’t involve fucking.

He was pouring coffee in a mug when he heard her approach. Then her arms were around him, making him laugh as she palmed his chest. She nuzzled his nape as she caressed his nipples through the shirt, twisting them in her fingers. He pulled one of her hands past his stomach. “Jaime,” she gasped against his ear as her hand cupped his cock. “You _are_ huge.”

“Thank you,” he said, grinning. He turned and she kissed him soundly on the lips. To his delight, she kept her arms around him. Her touch on his cock wasn’t sexual but he was beginning to stir. As he put four pieces of the chocolate truffles on a plate, he asked, “Maiden’s Nipples? How about that?”

“Boy, you don’t give up,” she said, kissing him on the neck. He made a face as she let go to walk around the counter and sit down. As he’d thought, the sweater brought out the blueness on her eyes, making them look ethereal. She was wearing jeans. They fit her well-they looked much better on her although he wished they were tighter so he could see the curve of her ass.

She picked up one of the truffles and took a bite. “What were you thinking when you made them?”

“You,” he answered honestly. His eyes softened at her blush. “Did you really enjoy last night, wench? I’m afraid I got rough.”

“I did. A lot,” she assured him. “And I-I like rough.”

He grinned as she looked at her lap. Her ears were red.

“I’m making note of that.”

He walked around to sit beside her. She looked up and he kissed each of her fingers. As he poured coffee for himself, she put half the omelet on his plate. He almost dropped the pot, surprised at the gesture. But she went on to eat, oblivious to his stare.

“Yum,” she murmured, closing her eyes briefly. He would cook everything and anything for her just to get her looking like she did right now. Her eyes opened as she groaned through the next bite. She didn’t look that much different from when his cock was inside her. “Jaime, this is so, so good.”

_No one_ had done anything for him. Nothing like this. He didn’t like it when women slept over and dispatched them as soon as he was done. He didn’t like being with them any longer than he should be. Some had wanted to stay—Margaery made it clear a few times. But he never wanted that. Not with her. Not with anyone.

Only Brienne.

Who right now, was holding out her fork to him, laden with a generous sliver of the omelet. “You’re going to be on your feet all day. You need all the energy you can get”

He smiled and opened his mouth. She grinned and fed him. “You’ve worn me out, wench. But you haven’t pulverized me.”

“Is that a challenge?”

He shrugged and sipped his coffee.

“Say, Jaime, um, would you happen to have an extra toothbrush?” She was red. “It’s just that. . .I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

“Use mine.” He helped himself to his share of the omelet.

“Huh?”

“Yeah. Use mine.” As she looked at him in horror, he got defensive. “What? Wench, I’ve had my mouth in your cunt. I fucked your mouth. You swallowed. Every drop.” He smirked. “I would think sharing a toothbrush won’t be a big deal after that.”

“You _are_ serious.”

“I don’t keep an extra toothbrush because I don’t like it when others sleep over.”

“I slept over.” She said slowly.

“I like you. I like fucking you too much.”

She looked almost lovely from the pink warming her cheeks. He put a hand on her thigh. “Use my toothbrush for now, wench,” he urged. “And later I’ll get you your own if it bothers you too much.”

“I appreciate that,” she said hesitantly. He kissed her in assurance. “I’m sorry to be making such a fuss.”

“It’s no bother. It’s no different getting your preferred condoms. I want to keep you fucking you, so we get the condoms you like. I want you to come back here so we’re getting you a toothbrush.”

“I’ll get you a toothbrush too,” she said, feeding him the omelet from her plate again. “And razor, shaving cream. . .that’s if you want to come to my place too.”

“Of course. And thank you. That’s really considerate of you.”

“Maybe you’ll let me cook for you too.” When he just grinned, she leaned forward and said in a stage whisper, “I have another secret.”

“You never wear clothes at home?” He asked hopefully.

She shook her head. “I make a _very_ good dick-in-the-wench.”

“You lie.”

“It’s so fucking good it’s fucking sick.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She kissed him on the lips. He stopped her from pulling away by planting a firmer kiss. Together, they finished the rest of the meal of the omelet before moving on to dessert. He got hot under the collar watching her oil-slicked lips open to take a bite.

“Maiden’s Nipples,” he drawled, watching her take a big bite of the truffles. As Brienne sputtered, he went on, “And we can totally have a dessert with nipples in the name, wench. There’s spotted dick, as you well know. Golden ass—buns slathered with cinnamon frosting. Pussylickers, a kind of cherry eclairs. Maiden’s Nipples is well within PG-13 territory unlike pussylickers.”

Pusslickers was a damn good name. He wished he’d come up with it. He watched her swallow, fascinated with how he could read her thought processes with just one look. Then her eyes glittered, making his heart skip a beat. Sipping her coffee, she then said, “How much do you want that name? Maiden’s Nipples?”

He had to hand it to her. He picked up a truffle and remarked, “You want something in return.”

“Not exactly for me. Something for the shop.”

“Hit me.”

Brienne licked her lips. He caught his breath. There was nothing deliberate about the act. Which made it a thousand times sexier. He shifted in the stool, feeling his cock thrust in his trousers. “I want a bigger display of that article about you.” As he began to protest, she hurried on, “and placed somewhere else more noticeable. No one will see it from behind the counter, Jaime.”

He sighed loudly and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Wench, I don’t like self-promotion.”

“Well. . .at least let’s have it up for a month.”

He crossed his arms and shook his head at her. “That won’t do.”

“Three weeks and I’ll let you have Maiden’s Nipples.”

“Three days.”

She shook her head. “Two weeks.”

“One week. I get the name. And I can kiss you anywhere I want.” He had to bite back a smirk, lest she realized exactly what he meant.

Brienne was suspicious. “Anywhere you want? What does that mean?”

“Just anywhere,” he answered evasively. His eyes brightened. “Oh, and I can also fuck you anywhere.” He wagged his eyebrows at her.

The way her blush spread swiftly all over her face would be breathtaking if not for her scowl. “That’s what you want? One week, the name and the license to stick your cock anywhere you want?”

“With your consent, of course. I’m not going to shove my cock in your ass without warning.” His mouth was suddenly dry, imagining how she might feel back there. “Have you done it before?”

“Er. . .no. But I’ve had a finger—”

He covered his ears. “Say no more, wench.”

She smirked. “Twelve days, you get the name. _And_ you do interviews.” She slapped her hand in satisfaction on the counter. “If you agree to those terms, my ass is yours. And you can slobber all over me anytime and anywhere.”

“Done.” Damn. She drove a hard bargain. He offered his hand. “A Lannister always pays his debts.”

The words sounded hollow, but Brienne shook his hand.

*******  
Brienne spent the better part of the morning at the printers outlining the specifics of the job. They could have everything ready in two hours.

At the shop, she found Jaime in a meeting with the kitchen staff. Her strides slowed, wondering if she would make herself scarce or just scoot to the office as discreetly as possible. But with her height, there was no way to do either. The men, all of them in their twenties, swiveled their heads in her direction just from hearing her footsteps. Jaime, standing in the center, grinned before adopting a stern expression.

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet my new partner.” He said, breaking away from the group to go to her. Brienne went to him, smoothing her windblown hair. They looked at each other, for the moment suddenly hit with the awkwardness of whether they should touch or not. In the end, Jaime gestured with a hand that she proceed him.

“This is Brienne Tarth, the daughter of my former partner Selwyn. She and I have been working together for the re-branding and renovation of the shop. We all report to her.” Brienne hoped she didn’t look too startled. They never had a formal agreement on who the staff would be reporting to, just that anything to do with the kitchen was Jaime’s and anything concerning finances were under her.

“Hello,” she greeted them. “Good morning.”

“The place looks great, ma’am,” a young man with curly dark hair called out from the back.

“Jon Snow,” Jaime informed her. “He’s in charge of the kitchen when I’m not around. This is Edd Tollett,” he continued, gesturing to a sullen-looking man with a narrow face and somewhat pointed chin. “And Theon Greyjoy. He’s a kitchen assistant.” The last man was thin, slightly smaller than Jon in build and also with dark hair. While Jon had a friendly face and had smiled when introduced, Theon just nodded at Brienne.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Brienne told them. “And please, call me Brienne. I look forward to working with you. If you’ll excuse me, I have to check on the work out front.”

“Sure, we—I mean, um, I think I’ll join you in a bit?” Jaime grinned as she widened her eyes in warning over his near-slip. She nodded and smiled at the men then continued her way to the front.

“Hey, Brienne. Finally,” Tormund greeted her as soon as she was past the swinging doors. Gren and Pypar waved at her before resuming putting supports on the shelves.

“Sorry, I was at the printers.’” Brienne didn’t mask her pleasure upon seeing the display of framed articles on The Sapphire Patisserie. “They’re up!”

“Yeah. Jaime was here earlier and had some suggestions on how he would like for them to be arranged. You did tell me before that if he felt there should be changes, I should go ahead but I wouldn’t have done it without running it past you first.” Tormund said, clearly uncomfortable that he had deviated from their discussion.

“It’s alright. It’s not much different from what I wanted and it’s actually more interesting,” Brienne assured him, noting that by mixing up the arrangement of frames rather than by size, the effect was something more visually arresting. She noticed a big gap between the frames. It was still behind the counter but the designated spot was at the eye level. She glanced at Tormund questioningly.

“Yeah, Jaime said you discussed it. Said you managed to talk him into having it bigger. Good on you. He’s a great-looking guy. He makes cupcakes.” He grinned. “The ladies better watch out.”

A reminder of Jaime and other women brought a cloud to her enthusiasm. Brienne looked away from the display and gestured at the shelves Pypar and Gren were installing. “They look good.”

“Thanks. So what do you plan to put there?”

“I thought some photos of our food and then knick-knacks like antique teapots or something along the lines of cute and quaint.” She said, heading for the big table display. It had two levels to maximize the space. “And I’m thinking of putting an easel stand with chalk art of a featured pastry of the day by the door.”

“Put it outside,” Tormund suggested. “That was you don’t run the risk of anyone walking into it here. You have the space, Brienne. But once the shelves and the table are filled up, it’s gonna look pretty small.”

“Yeah, well, we won’t be expanding anytime soon.” The renovation was just the first hurdle. Brienne still had to discuss with Jaime about the possibility of changing some suppliers. Then there was the matter of their debt. At some point, she hoped to put up a website, which would involve time and money again.

“If you ask me, best to stay small.”

“Hmm. We’ll see.” Brienne had never considered the possibility of expansion in the future. Her focus was getting the shop out of the red.

While she and Tormund discussed later improvements she could make once there was more money, Jaime sauntered in. As usual, he brought a cloud of fresh, warm, vanilla-laced pastries with him and sweat. He also tracked flour and sugar on the floor.

“Jaime!” Tormund greeted him. “Any chance you have any more of those bacon cupcake things?”

“Oathporkers? Of course. Actually, that’s why I’m here,” he said. “I know you guys bring your own lunches but it would help us perfect items in our new menu if we could test them out on you. At the moment, my staff is making oathporker—” he emphasized, making Grenn nod eagerly— “wenches and Maiden’s Nipples.”

Brienne took a sudden interest in the ceiling but once again lost the battle of the blush.

Pypar frowned. “Maiden’s Nipples? What’s that?”

“You’ll see.” Jaime winked at him. Brienne fiddled with her scarf. “Say, Brienne? Can I run something by you?”

“Sure.”

She expected to head to the office. Instead, Jaime popped in there just long enough to grab his coat and pull it on. She left her bag and got out. He left his apron on a hook on the wall then she followed him to the hallway leading to the alley at the back. He held the door open for her. She glanced at him but he simply gestured at her to go ahead. Once he was out in the alley with her, he took her hand. They turned and walked a few meters further down before he pulled her behind a wall. Though she could hear the bustle of traffic and other activity in the street, they were well out of sight.

“Jaime?” She asked as he put her between him and the wall. At the back of her mind, she had an inkling of what might happen but refused to believe. Only when she saw him looking around before facing her was it confirmed. Blood rushed to her head upon glimpsing the familiar flash of mischief in his emerald eyes.

“R-Really?” Was all she could say as he worked on the belt and zip of her jeans—his jeans. She was sure she was awake. She was on her feet. Her feet were on the ground. A police siren wailed in the distance. Even as her hands helped push underwear and jeans down to her ankles, everything still felt surreal.

“Don’t you want to?” He asked, looking up at her.

“Jaime, I want _you_ ,” she whispered as he pulled her close for a kiss. Swift, hard, needy. Almost violent. Their teeth clacked together but neither stopped their mutual attack. She gripped the collar of his shirt, ruffled his hair to find it finely dusted with flour and sugar. _He_ tasted of sugar. A hand clasped her by the ass as another slipped possessively between her thighs. She blushed when his tongue swooped in her mouth in tandem with a finger plunging in her cunt.

Absolute madness what was happening but the idea of halting, of letting common sense take over seemed ridiculous. She whined in frustration when she tried wrapping a leg around him, hindered by the tangle of clothes at her ankles. He responded by shoving her against a wall, grinding his hips hers.

“Seven hells,” he groaned, snatching his mouth from her. He looked half-crazed with lust. He glanced between their bodies. The front of his trousers was tented. She pressed her hot face on his shoulder as she sniffed the familiar, damp musk of her arousal and his scent. “You’ve soaked through my trousers, wench.”

“Hush,” she whispered, gripping him by the shoulders in embarrassment. “I can’t help myself.”

“Glad you can’t.”

Suddenly, he slipped to his knees. She would have darted a wild look around them, for a seed of rationality had begun to grown but he kissed her tits through the sweater. She wailed softly as the heat of his mouth seared through the wool. Her hands, with nothing to hold on to but him, clung to his shoulders as he moved further down her body. She closed her eyes as his breath fanned her pubic hairs.

Grabbing her hips, his tongue slipped through hair and slit to caress her slit. Her head fell back Her gasps and his wet, growling kisses melted into one carnal symphony. Her finger clung and smoothed his soft his hair Her hips squirmed and thrust against his face. She got wetter from every slide of his tongue inside her, every brush of his beard on her thighs. Thumbs parted her folds. His lips pulling and suckling at her clit made her shriek. Birds’ wings fluttered then beat the air taking off in sudden, panicked flight.

She didn’t know if her nipples tightened painfully from the cold shaft swirling around her bare legs and thighs or from desire that ratcheted higher with every kiss, every lick then suckle. She opened her eyes and found a cloudless blue sky and golden sun. “Jaime,” she panted, looking down.

His black leather jacket was a stark contrast to the whites of her thighs, freckled as they were. Dark green eyes looked up at her. He opened his mouth wide, revealing pink tongue as it fucked her and fucked her.

She grunted in protest when he suddenly pulled away and shot to his feet. Her legs were shaky; she clung to the wall in a futile attempt for balance until he caught her. Blue and green eyes bored into each other then she swooped in. His breath smelled of her. On his tongue was the film of her juices. He kissed her back, eager to share her taste. He pinned her to the wall.

“You’re fucking toxic to work, wench,” he whispered as his trousers hit the ground. His cock poked at her stomach before he bent. She grinned as he popped off her boot and slid one leg of the jeans off her.

He drew a pale leg around his waist while she grasped his cock. He kissed her around the forehead, the cheek, coaxed her to arch her neck to kiss her throat while her fingers rubbed the foreskin up and down his cock. She marveled at how warm he was despite the cold temperature. As he caught her lips in a heated kiss, she whispered no one should be this big when it was so cold.

“Winter won’t scare this monster off, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he gasped as her thumb circled the plump head of his cock.

“Not anymore,” she teased. “Now that you’ve told me.”

She was beginning to shiver but knew it wasn’t from the cold. Arms wrapping around his shoulders, she hummed in pleasure as his cock split slowly into her slit. She was still stiff from last night’s repeated rough fucking but couldn’t bring herself to refuse. _She didn’t want to_. She didn’t want him to be careful, to slow down. Jaime. Jaime’s cock. Fucking her. Fucking her some more. There was _nothing_ she needed more.

Her head fell back, and it delivered the sun right in her eyes. Everything else seemed to recede, so small and far away. Except for the kisses he rained on her neck. His cock sliding in and fighting to ease back as her cunt clutched desperately around it. She turned away from the sun, the sky. She fell in the emerald depths of his gaze.

His mouth muffled her wail to a whimper. Their bodies quivered through their release. She held him tightly as he panted against her. She longed to fuse into him, sink in his skin, burrow deep in his bones. They continued to hold each other some time after their release, their bodies already still yet weak from the ferocity of fucking.

“Wench,” he groaned. “I didn’t pull out.”

“It’s alright.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I’m on the pill too.”

He kissed her on the mouth in relief, making her laugh.

He pulled out of her. Immediately she was bereft. They pulled up their clothes, exchanging knowing glances and sheepish smiles. Jaime got down on one knee and had her prop her foot on his thigh as he put the boot on her. He straightened up and pulled her away from the wall.

“You think we can make this a regular thing?” he asked, holding her hand as they walked slowly back to the shop.

“Fucking in the middle of the day?” When she saw he was serious, she blushed and mumbled, “Well, maybe not in the alley all the time, Jaime.”

“Of course. We can go home. Or a nearby motel. Charge it to the company expense account,” he joked.

She laughed. He was about to pull the door open when she stopped him.

“What is it, wench?”

She looked at the door then him. For the first time since the shop closed, they were sharing the space with staff directly reporting to her.

“Do you think—“she took a deep breath. “I want it to be clear I’m not embarrassed. I want you, Jaime.”

He grinned and sent a heated, leering look right between her thighs. “I know.”

“No, you don’t understand. I want you. I—” Her cheeks flared red as she scrambled for the right words. “I enjoy fucking you. I enjoy doing other things with you, even when half the time you make me so mad I want to scream. But-but—”

She looked at the door again.

Noticing her distress, he put a hand on her cheek. “Hey, wench. What’s going on? Whatever it is, let it out.”

“You’re nothing like my ex but it’s just that. . .I know too well the risks and downsides of seeing someone at work. He and I were never a secret, but I have to believe it affected my chances at advancing further. I left because he turned out to have a hand in it.” As Jaime looked at her, she went on, “Jaime, I like working here. I like working with you, being with you. But I can’t—I don’t know if I can deal with—I worry that—that—”

“You think if people know I’m fucking you they’d question your authority.”

She nodded.

“I don’t want us to be a secret,” she clarified. “But I hope we can be a little more discreet. I think Tormund is noticing things but he’s not a permanent employee.”

“I’ve noticed,” he admitted. “Too many times he’s seen me looking at you like you’re a tasty snack.”

Surprised, she stammered, “W-what? Jaime, it’s been less than twenty-four hours since you first fucked me.”

He smirked. “You think that just happened out of the blue? Wench. Gods, you are the most foul-mouthed woman I’ve encountered. You have the wettest pussy too. But you _are_ quite innocent, aren’t you?” His eyes were tender. He seemed charmed by that. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you for weeks. Since the wake.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t want to take advantage. At least, I don’t want you thinking that. I fuck you because I want you. Simple as that.”

She allowed herself a smile. “Likewise.”

He groaned. “Why didn’t you let me know sooner?”

“You’re not exactly the easiest person to get along with. I thought if I was going to fuck you, I didn’t want it because we hated each other and just fucked to let out mutual frustrations. You said it. I fuck you because I want you. I-I like you.” She looked at the ground then him. “A lot. Even though you take some sick delight in annoying me.”

“Gets our juices flowing,” he reasoned. She rested her forehead on his, touching him briefly on the jaw before planting her hands on his chest. His hand lowered to her waist, slipped under the sweater, the t-shirt to touch the warm band of freckled skin.

“We’ll be discreet,” he assured her. “I’ll do my best to not toss you on the nearest flat surface to fuck you. Not while at work.”

She chuckled and kissed him. “Thanks.”

“Do you think you can wear skirts more? Easier to fuck you.”

*******

As the final preparations for the opening of The Sapphire Patisserie approached, Jaime and Brienne ironed out more pertinent details. He agreed to terminate deliveries from Winterfell Sugar Company after she presented him a list of possible replacements much closer to the city that had bid for the job.

While the big, commercial suppliers were more efficient, a problem Jaime experienced with them was how they treated The Sapphire Patisserie as a cumbersome extra. He sensed an opportunity to steer the supply side towards smaller businesses that were more passionate about delivering good service, as well as providing ingredients right from the farm and straight to the plate.

With the kitchen staff, Jaime continued perfecting the new additions. Brienne wore the concrete sidewalk thin going up and down the block and further plastering flyers for the opening on every shop window and sticking them in every possible mail slot. She also began official social media accounts, blasting teasers and tracking the views, shares and comments.

Though tired from the growing grind leading to the opening, they still made time for each other. It wasn’t too difficult. The routine was new yet inspiring for Jaime and exciting for Brienne. They took breaks in the middle of the day but never left the shop at the same time.

Measures to remain discreet were shot the day Jon Snow walked out into the alley for a cigarette break and caught Jaime with his hand under Brienne’s skirt and her tongue halfway down his throat.

The young cook could be counted to keep his lips sealed, Jaime assured Brienne. But more for her sake than his, he fought to keep his hands off her at work. This meant he deploying superhuman resistance to feed her samples from the shop’s kitchen and smearing her face with frosting and cream. That was just for his eyes.

Jaime had never been in lust—and so into somebody until Brienne. She made him laugh, often unintentionally. This earned him scowls, making him laugh even harder. When she smiled, she often hid her teeth. They were big and she had an overbite that years of braces did not completely fix. But her eyes lit up when she smiled. It was hard to look away when she did that. A lot of the things she did involved that struggle with him.

She was as subtle as a tank barreling into a city, her mouth could use serious scrubbing. She could be stubborn. But he found her endlessly fascinating—the way she frantically tried fixing her hair after he’d messed it during a wild kiss, how she looked at him as if he was the only living being in existence besides herself as he discussed food-grade packaging, the wobble in her chin when speaking about Tywin. She was taller, the very definition of unattractive but he could never get enough of her—not look at her enough, not hear her voice enough, smell her enough. Could never fuck her enough. She was the best fuck he’d had.

They didn’t really have a set schedule on whose apartment to spend the night in. But since Jaime lived closer to the shop, they tend to spend weeknights there. Weekends were reserved for her place a bit further uptown.

On Saturday morning, Jaime was sitting up in bed, watching with amusement as Brienne wandered around the room naked. It was refreshing that shy as she was about her small her tits and body that was boyish and broad instead of curved and lithe, she wasn’t too concerned about covering up. His expression was one of languid satisfaction, hands stacked behind his head. His cock was soft now. It felt chafed from fucking her. His back was a little stiff too. He was tired and needed another hour to recover.

Nevertheless, he felt that throb of arousal watching her. Messy pale hair that kept falling over her eyes. Tits jiggling with every step. Nipples red and plumped like cherries from his kisses. The insides of her thighs were scraped pink from his beard. When she turned around to step into panties, the Evenstar tattoo seemed to shift and roll. Her pale ass still bore the imprint of his hand.

He admired the flex of her firm back muscles as she wrestled on a t-shirt. “Do you really have to go so early to the laundromat?”

As he spoke, he reached for something under his ass. A condom. Then another. On the floor next to him were three packets. Something scratched under his arm. A fourth packet. He smirked and turned back to her. She was now putting on a sweater. “Stay here. Let me fuck you. You know you want to, wench.”

She let out a soft, throaty laugh and crawled on the bed on hands and knees. He sniffed appreciatively, tilting his head for her kiss. She smelled of sex and his wanton defilement but gods, she also smelled fucking fresh. She hadn’t taken a shower yet. He tossed her on her back, muffling her laugh with another kiss. As her arms wrapped around his shoulders, he cupped her cunt. 

Damn. She was wet. And still sticky.

“We need clean clothes,” she whispered, squirming as he tugged on the underwear. He palmed her fully, loving the rough clump of her hairs. He smiled against the tremor in her throat as she moaned from his touch. “I won’t be gone long.”

“Fuck clothes. You seem to forget I keep you naked most of the time.”

His lips closed around a nipple. Her hiss had him pulling it harder in his mouth. Her cunt warmed in his hand. “Jaime?” Her caresses were soft. Hands traced the bulge of muscles on his arms, then his back. As he let one nipple go, he took the other. It tasted slightly of semen. He’d come on her tits some time last night. He groaned and suckled harshly.

“Yes, wench?”

“Do you think. . .do you think I should stop wearing underwear?”

Her tit was so small his entire mouth could take the entire mound. He was slow to release it. Instead of being able to enjoy the sight of it gleaming with his saliva, he frowned at her. “That’s an odd question, wench. Why would you want that?”

Despite her blush, she slapped him on the shoulder. “Typical. Do you have any idea how many panties I’ve lost since we started fucking?”

He looked puzzled. He lay down beside her, hand remaining on her cunt.

“How are you losing panties?”

She looked incredulous then burst out laughing. “Oh, gods. You don’t realize you do it, don’t you?”

_“What?”_

“The second time we fucked. Oh, then your underwear when you fucked me in the alley. Hmm, I think I’ve lost maybe six pairs in that hotel we fuck in. Not to mention the other times we’ve fucked in other places! Half of my supply has been depleted since we began fucking. I don’t really mind. But if this will be a thing for you, I have to know. I don’t want to waste money on underwear if you’ll just throw it away.”

Jaime shook his head in disbelief. He could deny it, but he was beginning to remember. Taking them off, sure. And then tasting her. . .fucking her. Fucking her again. How her eyes rolled to the back of her head when she came—

His cock bobbed against her thigh. She looked at it then him. He smiled resignedly then put her hand on it. “You’ll do that for me? Skip underwear?”

Apple-red was his second favorite color on her. She flushed while moving down his body. “Believe me, if you don’t fuck me like a champion, I won’t be offering.”

“Sorry wench,” he said, spreading his legs as she moved between them. He ruffled her hair as she tongued his navel. “I really am. I don’t mean it. Honest. And allow me to replace your panties. Don’t stop wearing them— _gods_.”

He groaned as her tongue swirled around the cockhead. “I-I enjoy removing them from you. But—”

She hummed against his cock while pursing plump lips around it. Cheeks hollowed as she pulled him in her mouth. He groaned from the delicious, languid motion of her hand rubbing the foreskin. Her mouth was a hot _heaven_ on his sensitive shaft. “Don’t stop wearing them,” he grunted. “Once-once in a while—”

Swollen lips released him with a wet pop. “Once in a while- _unf_ —”

He gripped her head tightly, stilling her as he pumped desperately in her mouth. She whimpered but slurped sharply.

“Fucking hells, wench,” he gasped. “Don’t be shy now. Suck me.”

He fucked her face, hungrily watching her blue eyes flash and go soft. Her mouth was so fucking warm and wet. She was inelegant and awkward blowing him—drool dripping down her chin, her throat tightening every time the cockhead bumped it. But she was eager to please, and he fucking _wanted_ her. Wanted and wanted her.

He cursed loudly as he fountained in her mouth. His iron grip on her head kept her fused to his cock. They groaned through his release, his cock furiously pounding up her mouth. She sucked and swallowed wetly, loudly. He would swirl his cock some more in her but could feel her full. He let her go.

Brienne sat up. Her chin was smeared with him. As was the sweater. She was a mess and the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He pulled her down, pleased that she no longer resisted when he coaxed her semen-slicked lips to part. It was his new kink tasting himself still thick and wet on her tongue and wherever else on her face and body he had come.

He cupped her tits eagerly through their kiss. “Take this off,” he whispered, playing with a frayed edge of the sweater. “Stay. Let me keep my cock in you all morning.”

She laughed and kissed him. “I told you, Jaime. We need clean clothes!”

He whined as she scrambled off the bed. She removed the sweater, replacing it with another. He wanted her to remain in bed, but she was captivating to watch, whatever she did. Leaning against the pillows, he continued the thread of their conversation.

“If you want to skip underwear once in a while, hell yeah. Don’t let me stop you. But keep the garter belt and stockings. I love them on you.”

“Weirdo,” she teased while wiping her face clean with the discarded sweater.

“How the fuck are you up, really? Have I not worn you out?” He complained.

“I won’t be long. I promise.” She picked up the laundry basket overflowing with their clothes.

“Wench?”

She turned around. He smirked and blew her a kiss. She pretended to catch then pressed her hand on her cunt. He burst out laughing.

“Make sure you’re wet when you return to me,” he drawled.

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you later too.”

He fell back on the bed, groaning loudly into a pillow when he heard a door close. He hugged it, loving how it smelled of her sweat and him. He slept for another hour.

The first thing he did waking up was to fix the bed. In the bathroom, he took a piss in the toilet then brushed his teeth. He washed his face, patting it dry with a towel. He leaned close to the mirror, squinting at his beard. It was growing thick and nice, but some areas needed trimming.

Opening the medicine cabinet revealed the intimacy that had developed between him and Brienne quite quickly. Mixed with her tampons, pimple cream, moisturizer, toner, deodorant was his razor, aftershave, tiny scissors for trimming his beard, his deodorant. Her bottle of unscented feminine wash was right next to his unopened tube of favorite lube. She had yet to say something about it. Her birth control pills were with his vitamins. He checked the twelve-pack carton of condoms. There was only one left.

Not very surprising, he thought. They fucked almost daily, between three to four times a day. Brienne’s period began the day after he fucked her in the alley of the shop. It didn’t stop them, although the old towels they used rubbed his knees close to raw.

Jaime yawned as he left the bathroom. He pulled on one of her roomy, thick robes then jammed his feet in her fluffy slippers. He went to the kitchen to make breakfast.

When he first spent the night here, he was shocked to find that her fridge contained a lot of takeout boxes, nearly all with food that had transformed into monstrous science experiments. Her cupboards were well-stocked with sugar, flour, baking mixes—he even found unopened jars of pasta sauce. Brienne confessed that while she enjoyed cooking, she wasn’t too keen about cooking just for herself. If she didn’t have food delivered, she ate out.

Now, she had actual food in the fridge—eggs, fruit, vegetables, his homemade bacon because he refused to let her touch more commercial meat. As he assembled the ingredients for the waffles, he saw that her coffee cannister was close to empty. A quick look in the cupboards didn’t yield a fresh pack. He let out a sigh and went to the bedroom to get dressed.

He kept clothes here but sometimes helped himself to hers. Today he picked one of her t-shirts—white with a graphic of a smiling bear inside a pink heart. He couldn’t find any of his underwear in her closet nor was there any in his duffel bag. But he found her used panties near the bed. He indulged in a deep whiff before putting it on. He also borrowed her socks and trainers.

He pulled a sweater on and grabbed his wallet and copy of house keys before heading out of the door.

The supermarket in Brienne’s street was just opening when Jaime arrived. He got a basket and quickly filled it with coffee, a carton of milk, butter. He debated between getting a twelve-pack of condoms or a forty-pack. He chose the latter then went to pay.

Holding the bag to his chest, he hurried home. Brienne would be home soon, and he wanted the food to be ready when she arrived. As he turned to her apartment, he collided into someone. The contents of his bag spilled to the ground. A woman cried out. He cursed under his breath and together, they got to their knees.

“I’m sorry,” the woman told him, her voice very familiar. Jaime pushed the pack of coffee in the bag and took the carton of condoms at the same time as the woman reached for it. “Jaime?”

He stared at her, his mind trying to reconcile that the brown eyes and small lips on a face devoid of make-up was someone he knew. And she was.

“Margaery.”

He looked at the box they box held. She also stared at it. She let go and he put it in the bag. He picked up the rest of the scattered stuff silently. Together they stood up.

She wore a heavy sweatshirt over gym clothes. She stared at the package he held to his chest then the store behind him. “You don’t live here. Or did you just move here?”

“No. I don’t.” Though the air was crisp with a bite that told of imminent winter in the coming weeks, it felt thick. A wall closing in on him. He cleared his throat to ease the sudden heaviness in his chest.

Margaery, looking at him expectantly, realized he wasn’t going to say more. She remarked, “It’s a little early to be shopping, isn’t it?”

“We were out of coffee.”

The moment he said that, he winced. The surprise returned to Margaery’s face.

“We,” she murmured to herself. She nodded and looked at the bag in his arms. She was remembering the condoms. “Of course.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls.”

He wished there was more to say but there honestly wasn’t. She was hurt—that was clear. He knew he was an ass for ignoring her attempts to get in touch. But he had hoped his silence got the message across. She was not his girlfriend. He made no promises. He kept up his end of their agreement. He had offered his cock as an incentive and she had fun. They both did.

“You could have told me, Jaime.”

“Didn’t think I had to.” He lowered his voice to soften the blow. Much as he hated being obliged to talk to her about a part of his life that no longer involved her, he tried to be sensitive. And failing. Disappointment didn’t begin to describe her expression. 

“You’re getting her coffee. You never asked me for coffee.”

“I am sorry.” _Sorry for never responding._ But he couldn’t be sorry for how he felt about Brienne. “I’d understand if you want to terminate our arrangement.”

“I can’t. Your chocolate cream pies are a hit. People go to the restaurant to have it. I won’t have to worry about revenues this quarter. Thanks to you.”

Well, that was her choice. Jaime could end it but after what just happened, he didn’t want to be a bigger cad by robbing her of a good business quarter. It was the least he could do.

“A forty-pack.” Her smirk didn’t reach her eyes. “I hope it’s all for her.”

She slung her gym bag over her shoulder and looked him in the eye. He didn’t turn to watch her go, just stood on the spot for a moment before continuing for Brienne’s apartment.

While the encounter with Margaery was unpleasant, he was far from glum preparing breakfast. Some weight had been lifted off him. In his book he had not done anything wrong but if Brienne found out that he’d fucked Margaery too, he doubted if she could be as cool or understanding about Sansa.

Brienne was becoming his world. And choices he’d made in the past might make all they had crumble.

As it tend to go when he needed to forget or clear his mind, he turned to cooking. The batter for the waffles could be prepared in no time, and the same went for cooking it. So he prioritized the peaches first. Peaches and cherries were the wench’s favorite fruits. He sliced then placed them in the bowl, where he sprinkled sugar and the tiniest pinch of salt possible. A quick, careful toss then he left it alone to prepare the batter.

Soon, the apartment was filled with the warm aroma of waffles and the peach mixture being sautéed in the pan. He poured rum, continuing to gently fold the fruit and the juices and butter as blue-gold flames flared momentarily before receding.

He put two pieces of waffles on each plate then poured the peaches and every drop of their juice on the pastry. As they cooled, he made the coffee.

Like him, she preferred a medium roast. He shouldn’t be ridiculously pleased by that but couldn’t help it. They had different backgrounds and worked in different fields in a way but there was much in common between them. Both loved to cook, although Jaime was more skilled and adventurous in experimenting. One of the things he had begun to share with Brienne was shopping for food. They loved cheeses although she was not a fan of it in desserts. He was careful with wine because of his father while she made half a glass last for the entire meal. Their favorite season in the year was fall because it meant soft, cozy sweaters and bundling in blankets. And then fucking—their favorite thing to do with each other.

Jaime’s training as a chef involved keeping a neat and orderly kitchen. This extended to how organized his apartment was. Spices shelved and labelled, knives arranged by the frequency he used them, his treasured copper pots and pans always gleaming after being cleaned. He always fixed his bed and wiped the sink clean after using it. Brienne was not a slob but a lot more relaxed. She sometimes left without fixing the bed. Her used clothes tend to pile on that chair in her bedroom.

He had never really bothered to get to know a woman until Brienne. He’d been in relationships, but none lasted long enough for him to really commit. Part of the reason was his work. Culinary school broke you—nobody left unscarred or quite traumatized. The hours were long, and the job market was highly competitive. Once getting a job, it meant longer hours too. Hardly ideal for a relationship to have a shot.

He was running his own business now, which should mean some flexibility in the hours. But with the shop in the red, he refused to slow down. Sex, pure sex and nothing more, was all he could manage. It suited him fine until. . .well, until it didn’t. And he wanted something else. He yearned for more and it wasn’t with any of the women he took to bed.

Until Brienne.

Only Brienne.

If only he knew what exactly he wanted from her. He just wanted her more each day.

*******

When Brienne was thirty-three, she was able to buy her apartment. A small one bedroom in an old building in the neighborhood she loved. She had to cut down her usual expenses to make the monthly mortgage. But it never felt like a sacrifice. Her main expenses were eating out and deliveries. Shopping was frustrating so she hardly did that, unless necessary. When she traveled it was often for work, so the agency took care of the bills.

Around the time she was paying for the apartment, she turned to cooking. She knew how to cook—Selwyn taught her to make an omelet when was ten. By the time she was twelve, she knew how to make his three-hour pasta sauce. In college, because she lived in a dorm, her only experience with home-cooked meals was during the holidays with him. Her twenties found her sharing a studio apartment with two other girls. Being able to cook was next to impossible in the cramped space so she subsisted mainly on instant noodles and cheap, greasy takeout.

Only when she was able to rent her first apartment did she begin cooking again—but only during weekends. When she moved to the apartment she lived in now, she finally had the space and more time beyond the weekends for cooking. But she and Renly often ate out. And when he stayed it was just for sex and left as soon as it was don. There was no cuddling, let alone heated looks over pancakes.

Brienne did not actively avoid relationships. But she tend to be wary whenever a man showed interest in her. Being bullied for her height and looks plagued her for most of her life. She’d had to work not only harder—she had to be the best in every way. Her work was her armor, her skills her sword.

The advertising world, for all its support and encouragement of women in the workforce, remained largely an old boys’ club. Opening its doors to women meant they could only advance to a mid-level position. There was hardly a female who was in a position of decision-making that charted the course of an agency. And harassment, in every degree, was pretty rampant.

When Brienne was an intern, she had been groped in the ass by a senior-level supervisor of an agency. Ellaria encouraged her to file a complaint with human resources but was shut down. The supervisor, because he was older and had the reputation of being someone benign, had denied touching her. He also hinted heavily that with her looks, she was not one to incite attention of any kind—except for getting coffee and sandwiches.

Humiliated, Brienne quit her internship. She managed to find another agency and just kept to herself. When she was hired as a junior copywriter after graduating, she was glad that the agency had strict rules about professional workplace behavior. What she hadn’t accounted for was experiencing awful behavior from people hired on a project basis. A photographer during a shoot made advances to her. Despite ignoring him, he somehow got her number and sent her nude photos. She reported him to her boss. Because the photographer was an agency favorite, all that could be done was keep her away from him. When a headhunter for Spectrum invited her for an interview for a higher position, she had stormed the Seven with prayers to be hired.

She never experienced harassment in Spectrum but Randyll Tarly made it clear he didn’t think it was appropriate for a woman to do anything else besides file, prepare coffee and answer phone calls. She resolved to change his mind by working harder than anyone else. Being with Renly gave her second thoughts but. . .he was kind to her. And honest about his interest in other men too. Loneliness and the need for companionship rather than passion, she saw now, were her reasons in agreeing to be with him. She just never thought he would betray her.

It still hurt. As well as the absence of any emails or calls for an interview.

Despite that and everything that had happened in a span of a month, she was. . .she had some happiness.

Sitting next to Jaime, she watched him eat. The man was distracting in the best and worst way. It was a huge effort blocking out thoughts of him throughout the day. Or cataloguing his mannerisms, the different shades of green of his eyes when he was horny, happy, relaxed, annoyed, sleepy or mischievous. Then there was also the matter of his hand on her knee right now.

He was constantly touching her—lips on her nape while helping her out of a coat, fingers brushing hair from her face, a hand on her waist when they walked down a street, on her breast when they slept. Since they started eating another decadent breakfast of spiced peaches and waffles, he had brushed waffle crumbs from around her mouth, licked syrup off her chin.

The weather report indicated lower temperatures in the coming days but she was warm from his touches. Anticipating where his hand might land next.

Being with Jaime was a lot like the spiced peaches with waffles they were having. An ordinary, albeit lovely experience made even better. It was the little details that made it so. Besides having the best fuck of her life, she felt appreciated too. They butted heads a lot but that was because he listened and cared enough to argue with her.

And he made her head spin. Not just with kisses. Not just with how he looked at her like she was a fucking masterpiece or something to gobble up fast and slow—she probably would never know. He could talk about the different chocolates from Essos and compare the flavor of her cunt to spiced honey in a single breath.

“More coffee?” She asked, noticing his mug was only half-full.

Jaime looked surprised for a moment then nodded. “Please. Thank you.”

She refilled the mug. As she put the pot away, his hand snuck under her sweater and t-shirt to stroke her back. “Are you ready for the opening, wench? Any last-minute stuff I can help you with?”

Rather than opening this weekend, they decided to move it to a Wednesday. Opening on a weekend would mean competing with other restaurants opening all over the city—there was always at least a dozen. A Monday might not benefit them because people were rushing to work and tend to stick to their routines. So they picked Wednesday. At least it gave them time to tweak the recipes some more, make some additions if needed, and train the kitchen staff.

“Thanks, but I have it all under control,” she assured him. “I’ll just be delivering a small basket of our goodies in some of the offices in the block.”

“The wenches and Maiden’s Nipples,” he mused, grinning. She blushed and put more syrup on her food.

“I can’t believe I agreed to those names. You employed sorcery.”

He grinned then nuzzled her neck. “It’s just my cock, wench.”

Her nipples tightened from the scrape of his beard on her skin. As her breathing hitched, he whispered, “Come on. You know there can be no names more apt.”

“Hmm. I do like the Oathporkers,” she said, turning to him. He caught her top lip between his and kissed her softly. “You did use your cock for that one, getting me to agree to source meat from The Reach.”

“You’re welcome. Are you done?” He asked, glancing at her plate. She pierced the last of the peach and waffle with a fork and put them in her mouth. She nodded while chewing.

“Why? Do you want me to do the dishes? I should, you know,” she said, draining the coffee from her cup. “You’re always doing things for me. You have to let me share, Jaime.”

He shook his head and licked her sticky lip. “Wench, it’s not that. But thanks. No. I’m asking because I want to fuck you.”

_Holy Father, Mother, Warrior_ —and the rest of the them. Owlishly, she stared at him. He stared back at her as if he hadn’t said anything unusual. No, it wasn’t that unusual. Not anymore. But it was still an adjustment being blatantly told he wanted to fuck her. She shifted in her seat, her blush giving away her body’s response. A slow, knowing smile lit up Jaime’s face.

“You’re wet, aren’t you?”

She nodded rapidly.

“Stand up, wench. Show me.” Despite the command, the husk in his voice softened it. It was a plea. He looked at her as if begging for whatever alms of mercy she might deign to give.

He should never have to beg her. She would give whatever he asked—her body, soul, without question. It was his. The realization should be like flinging cold water to her face. How did it happen? When had she relinquished these? But there was difference between giving and things being a given.

So she stood up. Her hands shook. There should be outrage. Just the slightest uncertainty even, for how she had unknowingly and without question become Jaime’s. Instead there was only heat. Desire. She toed off her sneakers then unzipped her jeans.

Jaime smirked when she stood closer, until her cunt was in his face. He raised the edge of her sweater to peek at the growing wet patch in her underwear. Hairs slipped past the edge of the panel. When his hand delved between her thighs, he found them wet too. She sighed dreamily as he leaned close, nose rustling cotton and pubic hairs. He groaned and she pushed fingers through his hair. One of her legs bent as he kissed her.

“You have to give me the names of the men who have fucked you before and were too stupid to let you go,” he hissed, hooking fingers in the waistband of the panties to pull them down. “I should thank them.”

She whimpered as his breath washed over the hairs of her cunt. He seized her hips and pressed his nose fully on her thatch. Fingers bit into the supple skin of her ass. He tongued her slit, nudging it open. She blushed hearing the faint squelch of her juices dripping from her cunt right into his mouth.

Then he buried his face in her cunt.

_“Jaime,”_ she squeaked, grabbing fistfuls of his hair, tearing at his sweater. She could smell her own need for him. 

“Damn you, Brienne,” he groaned in between hungry slurps and desperate licks. “You shouldn’t taste better each time.”

He opened her, baring the thrust of her clit and her juicy folds. Another cry left her as his beard scraped and dug in the tender flesh. It was too much. Pleasure that bordered on sweet, hot pain. She tried rolling away, pulling him off.

Pleasure won over instinctive resistance. She screamed as he dragged her clit between teeth, sucking as if to drain the essence of her. The entire apartment plunged into darkness followed by an explosion of white.

Robbed of strength, bones, probably, she swayed. She heard him chuckle against her cunt and as he pulled her to the floor she glimpsed lust-blown eyes and the flash of his smile. She hardly felt the hardwood the cool tiles of the floor under her back. When his mouth closed over hers, she tasted herself, peaches and coffee. She could only kiss him back weakly.

It seemed she was watching things happen to her. Jaime dragging her sweater and t-shirt. Yanking her jeans and panties. She was spread and nude on her kitchen floor, panting harshly and flushed from forehead down to her thighs. Her nipples were stiff, pink pillars of flesh aching to be devoured. Her cunt was wet, thighs pink from his beard. And then she saw his golden head between her thighs again. She sobbed from the silken slide of his tongue on a fold. She didn’t deserve anything this good. He licked the other fold over and over. She blindly reached for her his hands. They gripped each other as he all but pushed his head in her cunt, fucking her with tongue.

This time she just arched sharply off the floor. A broken whimper was dragged from her lips as she quivered. He gentled his licks, his kisses. She chased one breath after the next as he covered her midsection with little kisses. Then her tits. His back muscles flexed and strained under her hands as he leaned down to take a nipple in his mouth, then the other. She pushed against the cloth covering him, but was too weak, too soft to do anything besides hold him.

Her vision cleared as he leaned right over her. Hair falling over his eyes. His gaze soft, matched with a beautiful smile. He was flushed and panting too. Beard and lips shone with her juices.

“Kiss me,” she murmured. “Please. Jaime.”

_“Brienne,”_ he breathed, doing as she asked. There was no ferocity this time. Only tenderness. She hugged him with arms and legs, rubbing against his clothes, his body.

“Can you still take me?” He asked, licking her lips. He smoothed hair away from her sweaty forehead. “Did I break you, wench?”

She managed to laugh and shook her head. Another sweet, tender kiss was exchanged. “Take this off,” she told him, pulling at the sweater. “I’m naked. You should be naked too.”

“Hang on, wench.”

She remained on the floor as he stood up and strode to the counter. Staring at the ceiling, she listened to him rifle through something. She turned, watching him undress. She ached to touch him, nibble his ass, lick his chest and push her tongue in his mouth. But she was zapped of strength everywhere. At least she could still watch him.

She spread her legs wide when he returned. Now he was nude. And hard. She caressed the sides of his thighs, loving the rough texture of hairs as he knelt between her legs. His cock pointed straight at her. She smiled weakly as he rolled a condom on.

“Hurry,” she begged, raising her hips. “Jaime, please. Fuck me.”

“Wench,” he whispered, taking hold of his cock. Then he pushed inside her. Her ankles quickly crossed at his back clutched.

They sighed in relief. Brienne opened her arms as his head dropped to her shoulder. She was sensitive from orgasm. The base of his cock was an acute sensation against her clit. But his cock. _Gods_. Huge and sure, the ribbed surface around it rubbing her like a hot, forbidden dream. He fucked her gently, so, so gently. She would have gone mad and screamed for more if she wasn’t drunk and high from her release, from his scent. From him.

“Look at me,” he told her. She did. He took her lips in a soft, very soft kiss. His eyes burned into her. “ _Brienne._ I should always be inside you.”

_“Yes,”_ she grunted, her eyes closing briefly. She clenched and let go to the rhythm of his pumping cock. “Fuck me however you want. Just please don’t stop. _Jaime, please._ Don’t. Don’t.”

_Don’t go. Don’t stop wanting me. Don’t stop looking at me. Stay. Stay with me. Please._ But she couldn’t say them. Not now. She knew she was safe in his arms. He would never hurt her.

And it scared her.

“Eyes on me, Brienne. Come on. Give me those. Yes. Let me watch you fly.”

She came with a whine, veins and muscles in her neck tensing. He followed in the next breath, his groan warming her mouth. He fell heavily on top of her. She held him, smelling him, feeling him. He was everywhere. She could feel the warmth of his semen despite the barrier of the latex.

A few moments later, they continued to lay on the floor. They faced each other. Neither could muster enough strength to even crawl to the bedroom.

Brienne thought Jaime was the sexiest in the kitchen, in his chef’s uniform and covered with flour and sugar. But she loved how he looked too after fucking. He looked younger and carefree. Happy. And dare she hoped, as happy as she felt.

“I swear,” he told her, casting an admiring look at her body. His eyes lingered on her nipples and cunt. “You were made to be fucked by me, wench.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course. It all goes back to you, doesn’t it?”

He chuckled. “I know I was made to fuck you.”

“So humble. And very romantic. How you make my head spin, Jaime. And make me weak in the knees.” She put a hand over her eyes like a damsel in distress. _“Ooh, dear ser.”_

“I believe I obliterated your legs, wench.”

She moved closer. He rolled to his back and she plastered her body half on top of him. She rested her chin on his shoulder as he played with her hair. Her bent knee nudged at his cock.

“How long will your legs be out of commission, wench?”

“Hard to tell.” She rubbed her tailbone. “Murder on the back, these floors.”

He chuckled. “Come on. I’m serious.”

“What do you have in mind?” She caressed his chest, kissing his nipple. He purred. _He really did._

“So we’re getting the meat for the oathporkers from The Reach. From a farm.”

“I remember.”

“The owner was one of my teachers from culinary school. He’s retired but has become a full-time farmer now. Anyway, since I’ll be visiting him after the shop re-opens, I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?”

She paused kissing his chest. “You want me with you? But The Reach is a few hours’ drive.”

“Three. Neither of us are at the shop on the weekend. We can drive there early Saturday and be back by Sunday night. I mean, I’d like to have you with me, wench,” he said, clearing his throat. “But if you have something else in your calendar, I’d understand.”

A trip with Jaime. A weekend. It was no different than what they were having now, yet it was. She looked at him. Did he look hopeful? Nervous?

“Won’t I be in the way?” She asked. “You might want to catch up with your friend.”

“I do. And I am. But I—” he let out a sigh. “I want you with me, wench.”

He sounded a little annoyed, which was puzzling. But Brienne wanted to be sure he meant exactly what he was saying. “Do you really?”

“Do you not want to go?”

“No!” She exclaimed. “It’s just that—well, I didn’t—I don’t know. It’s. . .It’s nice that you want me to come with you.”

“But?”

“No buts,” she declared after a moment. “I’m just surprised. I would love to come with you but only if you’re sure, Jaime.”

“ _I’m_ sure.” He promised, taking her hand and kissing it. “Twenty-four hours without fucking you is my personal hell, wench.”

“There,” she tried to sound lighthearted. “I knew you just wanted me along for sex.”

He smiled and pulled her close. “Is that what you think?”

“I just think I like being with you.”

“I’ll take it,” he said, putting his arms around her. She put her head back on his chest, hugging him around the waist. She shouldn’t be happy, but she was. Her heart felt full. “Can’t be without my wench. I’d put you in my pocket but you’re a fucking giant. Let’s hope you fit in my truck.”

She laughed and pinched him playfully. He yelped and retaliated by rolling her on her back and attacking her with kisses. She squealed and started poking him, tickling him. Through their tussle, her foot landed on something soft. She used her toe to pick it up from the floor.

“Jaime? Are these my panties from last night?”

He plucked it off her foot and wore it on his head like a hat. “Yep.”

She frowned. “Did you wear them?”

“Of course, wench.” He replied, climbing on top of her. He smirked as she struggled to contain her laughter. He nudged her legs open. “I missed you.”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The words were there. He only had to say them. The sentences. He already had the phrasing. But he could only look helplessly at her. Fearful that the man she saw and worried for was not him at all. 
> 
> Tell her. 
> 
> He held her tighter. There was no way things could go back to the way they were once she knew. He will also never get to hold her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> I hope the long chapter makes up for the massive delay! Thanks for reading.

For two days before the opening of The Sapphire Patisserie, its walls shook from Jaime’s roars. He yelled at Edd for using too much powdered sugar. He ordered Jon to get a haircut or he’d chop off the man’s curly locks himself.

Brienne, who had questioned the wisdom of soft opening, now say its necessity. If Jaime had a temper now, he was going to be a monster on the day of the opening itself.

She helped Shae out front. While Shae manned the register, Brienne took care of packing up food, cleaning, interacting with customers. When she decided to take a break, she went to the kitchen—and walked right into another of Jaime’s brutal takedowns.

“You’re fucking better off castrating yourself, you hear that? The world doesn’t need more idiots like you!” Jaime was yelling at Theon. The younger man looked close to tears. The others were wisely steering clear of their boss by pouring every ounce of concentration into kneading dough or putting frosting on a fresh batch of oathkeepers.

“Jaime, I’m so sorry,” Theon managed to whimper.

“You’d better be. Fucking hell,” Jaime growled. He pointed at the oven. “Get the croissants out. Help Shae. I don’t want to see your face here.”

As Theon hurried to his task, Jaime turned away. His eyes collided right into Brienne’s. She held his gaze for a moment then jerked her head ever so slightly in the direction of the door to the alley. He looked back grumpily but followed her.

She took their coats from the racks near the lockers and went ahead of him. He watched her open the door then followed into the afternoon light. Wordlessly, she handed Jaime his coat then put on hers.

Though they now had their noon romps in a hotel, he had fucked her in the alley two more times. In broad daylight, in the middle of a workday. Where any one of their employees could walk in on them again or attract the attention of people from other shops. Jaime didn’t really care. Brienne flushed a deep, vivid crimson but she never resisted. It didn’t take that many kisses and filthy whispers in her ear for her panties to end up around her ankles.

Fucking, not even kissing, was definitely not going to happen now. Jaime didn’t need another frosty glare from the wench to know. That looks of hers was colder than several brutal winters combined. But he was not going to apologize for his behavior.

“You can’t be on my case for this,” he pointed out. “The idiot put more salt rather than sugar. That’s an entire batch of cupcakes we had to throw out.”

“But did you have to attack him like that?” She asked.

“It’s the way I do things. It’s how any chef does things.”

“It doesn’t mean you have to do things the same way.”

He put his hands on his waist. “I’m not going to apologize.”

“No. Because he did do something wrong. But I don’t support this kind of behavior, Jaime. It’s downright abusive. We can’t afford a lawsuit from a disgruntled employee. Ever.”

“Abusive? Listen, wench—”

“You,” she snapped, her blue eyes darkening, “do _not_ get to call me that.”

 _Shit._ He had seen her upset. She was furious this time. And bordering on unforgiving at the moment.

“I’m not saying you have to be nice or coddle them. But you have to go easy on the verbal attacks.”

He sighed loudly and sank against the wall. “I’m nervous.”

“Understandable but it’s not an excuse.” Brienne said. “Do you have your wallet there?”

Jaime checked the pocket of his coat. “No. It’s in the office. In the locked drawer. Why?”

“Because we’re going home.”

He shook his head. “This is not how we’re doing things—”

“Today we are,” she insisted. “You’ve been quite hateful and it’s hard to look at you. But I know the guy I just saw back there is not the man I know. So before one of them bash your brains in with a rolling pin, you’re taking me home because I’m not feeling well. I might be coming down with the flu and contagious.”

“Fuck, you can’t be—” His hand automatically felt for her forehead. He frowned. She was warm but not burning with ever. She shook her head and removed his hand.

“I’m not. But I’m giving you the reason to leave early. What’s the point of them knowing we sleep together?”

He gazed at her, not knowing whether to kiss her or fight to stay. In the end, good sense kicked in. She was saving him. _Again._

Jaime marched back to the kitchen and called Jon over. “You’re in charge. Brienne’s sick. Make sure Theon stays out front today.”

“Will do,” Jon said. “And uh, I hope she feels better.”

“Let’s hope. She thinks she’s getting the flu.”

In the locker area, Jaime changed out of the chef’s uniform into street clothes. Feeling a bit more himself in t-shirt and jeans, he went to the office to retrieve his wallet from the locked drawer and Brienne’s bag. He put his coat back on and returned to Brienne.

“We’re not doing this every time you think I’m being too hard,” he said, handing her the bag.

“I don’t think you were too hard back there. You _are._ ”

She strode ahead of him toward the street. He followed her, barely noticing the people clustered in front of the shop. “Is it really hard to look at me?”

He hated how hurt crept into his tone. But he was. Sapphire eyes had become his weakness, his strength. His validation. It should make him hit the brakes the realization he’d unknowingly given this much power to a person he’d known for less than a month. Instead, he ached to have those eyes on him. He wished for her touch.

“R-Right now, it is,” she admitted, looking at her feet. She didn’t lose the beat of her stride, damn her. “But like I said, I know you’re not that horrible prick.”

It wasn’t good enough to reassure him. Seven hells, he’d had many women wanting to scalp him, but this was the first time he actually cared. He sped up to fall in a step beside her. A cab drove past, but she didn’t try hailing it.

“I thought you wanted to go home,” he remarked.

“I do. But we need to pick up a few things first.”

They walked for two blocks. No word was exchanged between them. Jaime hated every minute of it. He was used to talking with her. Having her eyes twinkling at him. She was not even touching him. He didn’t think she would flinch or flick his hand away. She wasn’t like that, he knew. But he sensed that he should stick to his space right now and give her time in hers.

Jaime frowned when they stopped in front of a small but exclusive-looking store. “What the fuck are we doing here?” He demanded, casting a dubious look at the name: Beyond Bath.

“Just follow me,” Brienne answered, pushing open the glass door. A soft bell rang.

Everything in the shop was white, clean and gleaming. He felt dirty in his worn tan coat and flour-dusted clothes. A small woman with smooth, milky skin, big purple eyes and platinum hair approached them. “Welcome to Beyond Bath,” she greeted them. “How may I help you?”

“We know what we’re getting, thanks,” Brienne told her. For the first time since their argument, she glanced at Jaime. Some of the ire had melted from her eyes.

Or it could just be a trick of light.

He really hoped not.

But she suddenly took his hand. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. It took real effort to not squeeze her.

Brienne got a basket and filled it with all sorts of products. Something like bath salts. A shower gel. Jaime recognized a loofah scrub with a carved, wooden handle. Little bottles. The woman who greeted them earlier rang up the stuff and put them all in a shiny white paper bag. Brienne handed it to Jaime.

As they stood on the sidewalk while Brienne hailed a cab, Jaime peeked in the bag. He picked up a flat bowl. “What’s this body scrub for? Wench—”

He paused but she didn’t give him a warning look.

“I like how you smell. You always smell great,” he added softly.

A cab pulled up in front of them. “It’s not for me,” she said, opening the door and gesturing he precede her. “It’s for you.”

“You don’t like how I smell? You told me a couple of days ago you like my natural scent.” _Fuck._ First, he was hard to look at. Now she wasn’t a fan of his smell? What the fuck was he supposed to do about that?

Annoyed, he grabbed her by the belt of her coat. She narrowed her eyes at him. Alright. She wasn’t in the mood to be funny or banter with him. Nothing fun. He looked up at her, hating himself for how he wanted to please her, get her back. When her icy glare refused to falter, he ducked his head and entered the car. She went after him, folding her legs close to her body. But she gave the driver his address.

So she was staying with him. Maybe. He hoped so.

She surprised him again by taking his hand when they entered his apartment building. Didn’t let go until he needed to get his keys.

Once they were inside, she took the bag from him and went to the bathroom. Jaime flung off his coat and followed her. She kept her coat on while turning on the taps of the bath.

“What’s going on, wench?”

“Sometimes, when I’m nervous before a huge presentation, I get cranky. I would lash out at too,” she replied, raising her voice a little from the loud whoosh of water down the tub. She reached in the bag, pulling out three big square candles. She put them around the bathroom.

“I used to pick fights with my ex,” she continued, lighting up the candles. The air smelled of something warm, woodsy and lemony. “And then Oberyn—do you remember him? The guy from the wake with Ellaria?”

He thought Ellaria was the small woman. She did have someone with her. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Anyway,” she said, returning to her spot by the tub. She pulled out a large, round container from the bag. “He introduced me to baths.”

He crossed his arms, not liking the sound of that. “How exactly did he do that? Did you fuck him?”

“Of course not.” She turned red. “Oberyn is all about self-care. He got me hooked on bath salts, oils. Scents. Candles. They help me relax.” She poured the contents of the round container in the water. They looked like salts in question. “Maybe they’ll do the same for you too. Take off your clothes, Jaime.”

In other words, she wanted him to marinate in a human stew of his own making until his skin pruned. He made a face as she poured several dabs of oil in the water. “Wench, this is ridiculous.”

No bristling when he called her the endearment this time. But he doubted if she was receptive to anything more than that for now.

“How would you know if you don’t try it first?” She pressed. “You’re tensed, Jaime. And you’re right to be. But you can’t be wound up like this and being horrible again tomorrow. So, please. Take off your clothes and have a bath.”

Jaime rolled his eyes but tugged off his t-shirt. “But you’re joining me?”

He dropped the t-shirt to the floor and caught her staring intently at his chest. She blushed and shook her head. “Um, no. Not this time.”

“Why the fuck not?” He stepped out of his shoes and worked on the jeans next. It was cute how red her neck was. She was staring at the water as if it was the first time she was seeing it. “I know you want to. Your blushes will always give you away, wench.”

She sighed and looked at him then. Though her eyes were soft, there was the warmth of desire too. He pushed the jeans and boxers down in one swoop. “There it is,” he said softly. “There’s that look.”

“Jaime, I want this to be your time. You need to relax.” She swished her hand in the water. “The salts should dissolve soon.” Pulling out another round container from the bag, as well as a bottle, she added, “This is body gel. The other is a scrub. You can use both or just one. It’s up to you.” She pulled out the loofah with the long handle next. “For reaching your back.”

“The bath is fucking waste without you to share it,” He complained, bending to remove his socks. She was still staring at him, eyes hopping from his face, his chest, cock and then back. He stood before her, nude and getting harder. His fingers wrapped around his cock, slowly moving the foreskin back and forth. The sensation and having her eyes on him dragged a groan from his throat.

Brienne swallowed.

“You want me,”

“And I never stop, Jaime.”

“Can I kiss you now? Touch you?”

He hated how he was begging. Yet he was slipping to his knees.

She nodded.

“Am I forgiven?”

She took his face in both hands. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

He grabbed her by the nape. Kissed her hard on the mouth. She tasted of lipstick and coffee. She moaned and scooped him up in her arms, pulling him up with her as she stood. He arched his neck as she dropped kisses up and down its long line before taking his mouth. His heartbeat slammed harder and louder in his chest than the swoosh of running water.

“Brienne,” he gasped, grabbing her tits roughly. Thin, pale eyelashes fluttered at him. “Take off your clothes. Join me in the bath. Don’t deny it.” He slipped a hand under her skirt, on her cunt. She swayed and quivered. Clung to him, her eyes looking soft and wide. “You want me to fuck you. You’re wet.”

“I am.” She sounded helpless. “I do. You know that. But I mean it. This is your time. Besides, I have other things to do.”

“Like what?”

She kissed him softly and caressed his cheek. “Jaime, will you let me take care of you for once?”

“Take care of me by letting me fuck you.” He looked for the snap and zipper of her skirt. She stilled his hands.

“Take care of you in a way that doesn’t involve fucking?”

“But that’s my favorite.”

“You’ll thank me for this too.” She promised. “Get in the water. Hurry. It feels great. And you’ll feel better.”

“Only because you told me, wench.” He grumbled, stepping in then sitting down. Almost immediately, he let out a groan. “What the hell was that? It’s fucking _incredible_.”

“It’s the salts.” Brienne bent and kissed him on the forehead. “Take your time. I’m taking care of everything, okay?”

“What do you mean by everything?”

Her answer was a smile and another kiss. Then she was gone.

Alone, Jaime stared at the door for about a full minute before turning away. Bubbles coupled with salt and oils tickled every inch of his skin. They felt like a million kisses and licks happening everywhere simultaneously. He sighed and sank deeper in the bath until only his head was visible. What had Brienne put in the water? His nose picked up something cool too. One hit and it was springtime in his head.

Though he didn’t fall asleep, all thoughts about the shop left him. He gave in to the sweet, silky lull of the bath. Thoughts about the past mingled with the present, and a future that, surrounded by warmth and bubbles, seemed true.

The past often bore on him like a growing pile of rocks right on the heart. He opened his eyes, rubbing the phantom tightness on the spot. There was no avoiding his father and painful memories. Selwyn too, but all Jaime felt was shame. He had disappointed the one person in his life to believe in him.

And just knew there would be two shortly. He glanced at the door.

Will she understand why he did the things he’d done? Was there a way for her to never find out? If she found out. . .will he lose her? Or will she fight to stay?

The water was beginning to cool. He sat up. The bubbles, once fluffy clouds of soap, had melted. He got out and toweled himself dry. He put on a robe and headed out, going straight to the bedroom.

Brienne’s bag was there, and she’d left her shoes in the middle of the room. Her clothes were on top of his pile on an armchair. Something about the mess tugged at his heartstrings. He took her tank top and sniffed it. No perfume. Just soap and the fresh essence of Brienne.

Something was cooking in the kitchen, his nose told him. He put the tank top back on the chair. Sniffing some more, he determined whatever was cooking was something meaty and heavily spiced. Warm. Homey. He hurried into clothes then went to the kitchen.

Brienne was there. She was wearing one of his long-sleeved t-shirts and the leggings she sometimes slept in—on the rare occasion he allowed clothes in bed.

Jaime paused mid-stride, watching her work. He was used to the wench in front of the computer or hunched over a table while talking to the construction crew. Seeing her in his kitchen. . .well, she looked right. Right at home. As if she had always been there.

He was possessive and territorial about the kitchen. _His_ kitchen. But there none of the snark or other statements of defense welling up in his throat. He was mesmerized by the tense and strain of vein and muscle of her hands and arms while tossing a mixture in the pan she tipped to the beat of the spatula.

“Hey.” Her smile would never be in any toothpaste ad, but he thought it was endearing and sweet. He smiled back and sniffed. He went to her and looked over her shoulder.

“Onion gravy, wench?”

She blushed and nodded.

“What are you making?”

“Um. Dick-in-the-wench.” Her voice was suddenly small.

He let out a breath and stared at her. She turned off the stove and wiped her hands on the apron. “I don’t know if it will be as good as your Mom’s, Jaime. For all my bragging. But I want to do something nice for you. You’ve been lashing out on people and I know it’s because you’re nervous about tomorrow—”

He shook his head and took her in his arms. He kissed her. She gasped and kissed him back, hugging him to her chest. His head spun from the contrast of sensations felt only with her. She had a sturdy, muscle-honed body but her mouth was absolutely the softest he had kissed. She had calloused hands, but they were the gentlest to touch him.

The kiss softened and they set each other apart. She caressed his chest as he pushed hair from her face. “Thank you,” he said softly, touching her on the cheek, the side of her neck. He watched it flush under his touch and kissed it. Her little quiver was cute. “Do you know how great you are?”

She smiled and bopped him lightly on the nose. The sun shone from her eyes. “Do you?”

He nuzzled back, not knowing how to answer the question. “Can I help?”

“No.” He laughed as she moved away from him and checked on the onion gravy. “You just sit back and relax. I’m taking care of everything tonight.”

“Wench, for the record, you’ve stolen my kitchen right under my nose with subterfuge involving bubbles and aromatherapy.”

“Good. Now that I know it works, I’ll definitely be doing it again. Get lost,” she said affectionately. “And let me cook.”

He glanced at the oven as he left. Brienne saw before she switched the stove back on. “Don’t worry, I only got sausages from that farm to plate shop you like. There’s no way I’ll forget you and commercial meat.”

He shrugged, feeling a little sheepish. “Just thought to check.”

“Go. Leave. Now.”

When Brienne said she was taking care of everything, she actually meant _everything._ Dinner consisted not just of dick-in-the-wench but also tossed green salad with cubed feta cheese, olives, tomatoes in balsamic dressing. Wine was a full-bodied red, of which they each only had half a glass.

Though it had been years since he last had dick-in-the-wench, he still remembered its perfection. He loved the heartiness of the meal, spiced sausages cooked in a batter then served with onion gravy. It was a simple but always satisfying meal during the fall. He had no idea how much he had missed it until it was within his reach this night.

Brienne watched anxiously as he took the first bite. Jaime sighed from the simplicity of flavors, the textures. Everything was good again. He didn’t realize his eyes had closed until he opened them. The first thing he saw were big sapphire pools reflecting the golden light from the candles. He smiled as he chewed.

“Wench,” he said, reaching for her hand. He kissed every knuckle while looking at her blotchy face. “That was amazing.”

“Really?” She didn’t look like she believed him. He grinned and kissed her firmly on the lips.

“I promise,” he assured her. She looked visibly relieved, so he kissed her again. Though she still carried that cool, fresh herb garden smell, there was also the hint of meat and spice on her skin. She always tasted good. A very tasty, walking snack. But this time she was just fucking delicious. She giggled as he licked her warm, freckled neck.

He was hard. It was becoming the new normal with her. He sprang erections whenever she was in the room. By the gods he wanted to fuck her but there was also contentment in just looking at her heavily freckled face, her clear, guileless sapphire eyes. She touched him lightly on the jaw, his cheek.

“Thank you,” he told her sincerely. “No one has done anything like this for me for a long time.”

“I’d be happy to do it again. If you’ll let me. You’re possessive about your kitchen. Not to mention more challenging than a hissing cat in the bath.” She whispered, kissing the tip of his nose.

“What’s mine is yours, wench.”

He had a second serving then a third. And a fourth he shared with her because he was already so full but couldn’t resist another bite. They polished off the salad. Then she told him there was strawberry ice cream for dessert. He grinned, patted his stomach and declared he definitely had room for that.

She insisted on cleaning up, from the table and doing the dishes too. Jaime, expecting that they would burn the calories in the bedroom, was in for another surprise: a game of Whites & Knights.

“Wench, this is a child’s game!” He complained as she set up the board. The showed paths and various levels. Two pieces of dice determined how many steps a player can take in a game. The placemarks or tokens consisted of a direwolf, a bear, a lion, a dragon. The game was based on a legend about a Night King and the great Westerosi families that have fought him and his armies. The family names have long been lost but their sigils were still remembered.

“Which is exactly what we need!” Brienne exclaimed, grabbing a throw pillow from the sofa. She put it on the floor and sat on it. “We need to stop thinking about the shop, Jaime. It’s all we’ve thought and talked about for weeks.”

“Not me,” he said, shaking his head at the game.

“Do I want to know what else you’ve been thinking about?”

He smirked. “Oh, you know. I act on it as soon as I think it. And you’re always a very active participant. Right now, I’m thinking—”

“Oh, no. We fuck once and we have to fuck again. And then again. Before we know it, we’ve been fucking the whole night!”

“You love it!”

“Yeah, but we need to be rested tomorrow. So sit your butt down, Jaime Lannister. And play me.” He grinned and she blushed. “I mean play with me!”

*******  
At exactly seven o’clock in the morning, the new Sapphire Patisserie had its grand opening. Soft runs had helped spreading the word about the new items on the menu. A line had already formed by the time Jaime unlocked the doors.

Within thirty minutes since opening, the first batch of oathkeepers were gone. Edd and Jaime scrambled to finish frosting the cupcakes and crowning them with meaty chunks of bacon. Jon and Theon made batter, mixed, and kept the oven full of other items. The wenches soon ran out too. Then the apple pie. The chocolate croissants went next. People were intrigued by the name Maiden’s Nipples. It ran out quickly too.

Brienne rushed in and out of the kitchen refilling the trays baskets with croissants, packed wenches, putting oathkeepers in the glass shelf display next to the counter. She swept the floor clean and assisted Shae in packing the food customers bought. By twelve noon, they were ready to collapse.

A reporter for The Village Beat came to interview Jaime. Brienne went to the office to get a press packet as this went on. When she returned, Jaime was already shaking hands with the reporter, apologizing for the shortness of the interview. As soon as he saw Brienne, he grabbed her by the waist.

“Please don’t forget to mention my new partner, Brienne Tarth,” he told the reporter. “She’s largely responsible for the new Sapphire Patisserie you’re seeing now. She has also been incredibly supportive in making changes in the menu.”

“Tarth?” The reporter asked. “I thought Jaime’s partner was Selwyn Tarth, the former Executive Chef at the Golden Stag?”

“Yes. My-my dad.” Brienne was glad her throat didn’t close up remembering him. “I took over the partnership when he passed.”

“I’m so sorry about that. Selwyn was an innovative chef. One of the few. He rarely stayed within the lines.”

“That’s my Dad. He loved to cook so much.”

Before the reporter left, Brienne handed him the press packet. “This all the information you need and some photos, if you want more.”

She watched him go. As she did, Jaime’s fingers slipped between hers until her hand was fully in his grasp. She turned to him. “That was nice. But you didn’t have to include me.”

“Of course I had to,” he said. “Just look.” He gestured at the crowd looking at the goods, loading up their trays with wenches, croissants, Maiden’s Nipples, tarts. “You made all this possible.”

She looked around. The opening had gone better than they’d hoped. Her back hurt. Her feet were killing her. But it was only noon and they’ve been refilling the shelves and baskets almost every hour. It wasn’t going to be this good in the coming days, but she hoped with all her heart they would make enough to pay the debt.

“You let me, Jaime.” She reminded him. “Congratulations.”

“Congratulations too, wench.”

She chuckled as he rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. She was about to remind him that they were in the crowd, that people would see. But he was quick to kiss her. And she responded.

He tasted of sugar and flour. Coated with it too. A little moan escaped her lips as she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. He chuckled and hugged her around the waist.

“I knew you were fucking someone,” Somebody cackled from right behind them. Brienne jumped and gasped, quickly pushing Jaime away, who narrowly avoided crashing into the table of pastries. As she blinked at the grinning man with dark hair and receding hairline, he continued. “You’re the one he cooked for the other day, didn’t he? I’m Bronn.”

He held out his hand to her. She looked at Jaime, who straightened up and rolled his eyes at the man. “This fucker is my friend, Brienne. He owns Stop N’ Gourmet. Also, we went to culinary school together.”

“Hello,” Brienne shook his hand, flushing. “I’ve been to your store. Your assistant was kind enough to let me put up signs about the opening of this place. And I love your appetizers.”

“Thank you,” Bronn said, pumping her hand energetically before letting go. He looked around, nodding. “Great turnout. All day I’ve been hearing about bacon and cupcakes. And some new desserts too.”

“Jaime invented new desserts, true,” Brienne confirmed. “Um, I can show you around?”

Bronn glanced at Jaime, grinning. “Sure. Yeah. Please. Thanks, Brienne.”

Brienne soon found out that despite his brusque language, Bronn was friendly. He marveled at the oathkeepers, enthusiastically getting a piece off the sample tray Jaime offered to him and the customers in the shop. He proclaimed love for the new look of the shop. “It’s not the usual saccharine pink. It’s a first-class joint. Elegant but friendly. I also love that customers can get the desserts themselves—the open display, you know?”

“Jaime said that’s how it goes in patisseries in Essos,” Brienne said.

“Yeah. He would know. But did he come up with the blue scheme too?”

Jaime put his arm around her waist. “That’s all Brienne. And none of the food we’re having is without her okay.”

“He’s quite pushy,” Brienne said to Bronn, who laughed.

“Don’t I know it. He never learned the fine art of persuasion, this little shit. Now if you’re looking for someone with more finesse—”

“No. She’s with me.” Jaime declared, tightening his hold on her.

And he was not joking.

Bronn, realizing that his friend was not in the mood to play along no matter how harmless the joke, gave him a strange look. Brienne kissed Jaime on the cheek. The muscle was rigid.

“Well, if you change your mind, Brienne, about finesse and having a real man do real cooking for you,” Bronn continued, moving forward despite his friend’s displeasure. “I’m open for business. Oh, are those the nipples I’ve been hearing about?”

Brienne gently pinched Jaime and he cleared his throat. “Yeah. Come on, I’ll get you a tray.”

He made a point of steering Bronn away from Brienne. She shook her head and went behind the counter. “Shae, why don’t you take a break. I can handle things.”

Shae looked grateful. “Thanks, Brienne. But are you sure? Customers are still coming.”

“Don’t worry. Go. I can’t have you starving. Have a big lunch,” she told her employee. Shae smiled at her.

“I won’t take long. And I can bring you back a sandwich?”

“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary.”

With Shae out, Jaime had Theon go to the front of the shop next to assist Brienne. Jaime insisted on ringing up Bronn’s purchase. Bronn shrugged apologetically at Brienne, and she did the same. There was nothing Jaime had to be jealous about.

“Wen-I mean, Brienne,” Jaime said as Theon got a box for Bronn’s Maiden’s nipples. She gave him a warning look. “Uh, you should take a break. I’ll take care of things.”

“Oh, but I’m alright. I can go when Shae returns.”

“Now,” he insisted gently. But he kissed her a bit more passionately than was proper before an audience. She kissed him back with as much heat. She couldn’t help herself. “You don’t want Shae starving. I don’t want you starving either.”

The rest of the day had all employees on their feet and running around. Brienne let out a happy shout when Ellaria and Oberyn arrived later in the afternoon. “You made it!” She exclaimed, throwing her arms around them.

“You’re trending on social media,” Ellaria marveled as they hugged her back. “Here, look.”

She pulled out her phone. Brienne grinned seeing that #oathporkers, #thesapphirepatisserie, #wenches and #maidensnipples were trending. “Congratulations.”

“Yeah. And the place looks fantastic. Tormund did well,” Oberyn said, nodding at the interior décor of the place. “Is he coming?”

“He and Dacey will come by after her work. They’ll bring the kids too,” Brienne answered. Looking over their heads, she saw Jaime approach. “Jaime, over here. You’ve met Oberyn and Ellaria before.”

“Yeah. Hey, thanks for coming,” Jaime told Oberyn as they shook hands. He flushed when Ellaria gave him a quick hug and big kiss on the cheek. He stood next to Brienne, putting his arm around her waist. “We’re glad you were able to make the time.”

“Are you kidding? Of course!” Ellaria said. “And I haven’t seen much of Brienne. You’ve been keeping her from me.”

Brienne blushed and gave Jaime a look. She had not told any of her friends about them. But if Jaime was right about Tormund, and Tormund was quite the talker, Brienne could bet word about her and Jaime had reached Ellaria and Oberyn.

“Say, Jaime, what do you recommend we get?” Oberyn asked, picking up a tray.

“Come along. I’ll show you the pricey stuff,” Jaime joked, leading him towards the display. Brienne was still blushing as Ellaria went to stand beside her.

“So I was right? He has been keeping you from me?”

“We’re just fucking,” Brienne whispered, turning away, lest Jaime catch her blushing and figure out exactly what they were talking about.

Ellaria snapped her fingers. “A-ha. So Tormund suspected.”

“He only suspected?”

“To quote, ‘He looks at her like a snack buffet,’ unquote.’” Ellaria grinned and looped her arm through Brienne’s. “Oh come on. Stop blushing like a fucking maiden, sweetheart. You deserve to sit on a face like Jaime’s after what happened with Renly.” She glanced behind them. “Ugh. He’s sickeningly hot. I swear if I wasn’t engaged I’d go for him myself.”

“Just try,” Brienne muttered. Ellaria giggled.

“I know better than to pit myself against you. Of course not. He sure is dreamy.”

“Stop.” Brienne admonished.

“So, it’s good? Fucking him?”

“I’m not answering that. But. . .” Brienne leaned close to whisper. “He’s asked me to go with him to The Reach. For a weekend.”

Ellaria looked surprised. “I thought you were just fucking.”

“Who says we’re not going to fuck all weekend?”

Ellaria slanted a glance at Jaime, who was persuading Oberyn to take bite of the Maiden’s Nipples. “He doesn’t have that look on him, to be honest. He’s hotter than Seven Hells. But something tells me Jaime isn’t really the sort to string you along just for sex.”

Brienne decided not to tell her about Jaime’s nickname. For he was exactly what she said he wasn’t.

“Other women, maybe,” Ellaria continued thoughtfully. “But you. . .I don’t see it. It’s the way I saw him hold you just now. I don’t know. But if you’re just fucking then go ahead. Having his cock in you day and night looks good on you. I mean, look at your skin. Unless there’s a miracle cream that will make you look like you’re getting it twenty-four-seven?”

“Let’s not talk about my sex life please?”

Ellaria laughed. “Alright. But really. You look better than I’ve ever seen. If he’s watering your garden or whatever, by all means, have him keep doing it. When are you going to The Reach?”

“I don’t know. But we have to meet with a new supplier soon.”

“Where exactly is that? In The Reach?”

“I haven’t asked. Why?”

“You know I have a cabin in Arbor. If you’re there or at least close to area, you’re welcome to it. Just get me new sheets.” Ellaria teased, winking.

“You’re not going to stop, are you?” Brienne groaned, smacking a palm on her forehead.

“Fucking no.” Ellaria kissed her on the cheek. “But seriously. Congratulations, Brienne. I’m so happy for you.”

********  
For the next five weeks, The Sapphire Patisserie just about managed to fulfill the increasing demand for their products. Right away, it was evident they needed more help, especially with the kitchen.

Shae had the first shift manning the cashier in the morning while Brienne took over in the afternoon. The kitchen staff was also split. In the morning, Jon supervised two new hires in the kitchen, Alys Karstark and ‘Small’ Jon Umber, and Theon. Afternoons, Jaime took over with Edd and a new kitchen assistant, Ramsay Bolton. Staff was fewer later in the afternoon because the demand for the pastries tend to dwindle, but not by a lot.

The biggest hit were the oathporkers. Bloggers as well as traditional food columnists couldn’t rave about it enough. The increased publicity resulted in more customers. Brienne, promising Jaime a weekend of oral sex, convinced him to have a bigger and more prominent display of his interview with The Village Beat.

Despite no longer having to wake up at the crack of dawn for work, Jaime and Brienne were still exhausted at the end of the day. Besides working right in the shop itself, there were things like expense reports and supply tracking to do. Payroll. Insurance. Bills. Debts. The bank debt was the biggest headache of all.

“Wench, come on. We’re off the clock,” Jaime complained one night as he joined her in bed. He tried catching her eye while shrugging off the robe. The wench’s eyes remained on the laptop screen, her long, freckled fingers furiously typing. He sighed and joined her in bed. Dropping a kiss on her shoulder, he added, “No matter what you do, the numbers are still the same.”

Brienne continued to stare dejected at the screen. Jaime stretched out beside her, willing her to notice him. “We have less than two months to settle the debt, Jaime. We’ve barely even made half. I don’t know what other cost-cutting measures we can do. At least the staff have always been part-time, but trust me, that hardly makes a dent. At least we paid last month’s.”

Jaime suddenly felt queasy. It was a discomfort that began a few days after the shop re-opened. It often hit him when talking about money. He didn’t have to be told his guilty conscience was behind it.

“We’re going to have to sell something or do something to cover the rest,” she continued, fingers combing through her hair in frustration. “Gods, what if I have to sell my apartment?”

Now Jaime felt really bad. He rubbed the tightness on his chest and put a hand on her shoulder. “No, wench. It won’t come to that. I won’t let it, alright?”

“We have to be realistic, Jaime. Shit. What if it’s Dad’s apartment I have to give up?” She asked, typing some numbers on the screen. “I can sublet it. Use the income there to make our monthly payment to the bank.”

She could. It wasn’t a bad idea. But it was her dad’s apartment—well, now hers. _Another_ of hers used to save his useless ass. He pushed the thought out of his mind by slipping a hand under her t-shirt. There it was. Her soft warm skin healing him, somewhat. He massaged her lower back gently. “No. You’re not going to sell anything and whatever money gained if you sublet it should be yours.”

Brienne sighed and resumed typing. He kissed her on the shoulder. “Put that away, wench. Come on. Give your brain a rest.”

She turned to him, a half-smile on her face. He grinned innocently when two bright crimson pools spread rapidly across her cheeks when she saw he was fully nude. And hard. “You didn’t even see me naked right away, did you?” He pretended to pout.

“I’m sorry.” She kissed him on the cheek. “But I fully intend to catch up.”

“Less talking, wench.” He urged, pulling at her t-shirt.

She put away the laptop then put her arms around him. He groaned as her big mouth wrapped around his lips, engulfing him with a hug and eager kisses. She straddled his lap, taking his jaw in her hand while he fondled her tits under the t-shirt. Hard, pointy nipples greeted his touch. Her hips swiveled gently against him. He bit her playfully. Her pajamas were warm. Damp.

Suddenly, she moved out of his embrace. He watched her arms cross over her chest as she yanked the t-shirt off. He almost threw his arms high in the air in triumph, but it was better to attack her bottoms. He shoved her roughly on her back and came close to ripping the blasted pajamas open. As soon as her legs were free, he pushed them open. Buried his tongue in the wet depths of her cunt.

He growled and slobbered on her hairy slit. Fucked her as if to scoop with tongue the secrets of her taste. Slurped on her clit. She rewarded him with sharp, piercing wails and thighs squeezing his head. As she trembled from the aftermath of her quick climax, he kissed up her body.

He nibbled on the ridges of her abs before she pulled him to her tits. She wrapped her legs around him, rubbed her soaked cunt against his cock while he drew long and hard on her nipples. Her groans were the sexiest sounds he’d ever heard. As his suckles harshened, her nails raked up and down his shoulders. He welcomed the sweet pain arising from her wildness.

But when he slammed his cock in her cunt, he gripped her wrists above her head. He filled his vision with her red, sweaty face, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, full lips opening and closing like a gasping fish. His world was her hard body rocking furiously against him. Their sweat mingled through the clash of flesh and bone. _Her flesh._ He groaned and took her mouth, speeding up his thrusts. Over and over her cunt yielded to the hard, brutal thrusts of his cock. Her scream was sweet.

He laughed a while later as Brienne crawled out of bed grunting about her pussy never being the same after what his cock had just done. He watched her lovely ass leave as she went to the bathroom. Grinning, he wiped the sweat off his chest and arms with a blanket. Hands were stacked behind his head when she returned to him.

The muscles of her body contracted and rippled as she stretched out next to him. Freckles and pale skin, tiny tits and a bush thicker than anything he’d seen. She was glorious. She pulled the blanket over them and together, they sank on the pillows. He was pleased when she slipped her leg between his knees.

They stared at each other quietly for several moments. How could something that was essentially nothing make him so content? He wondered. After fucking a woman either he left immediately or asked her to leave. It was rare when someone stayed over. He never liked it—things were a lot harsher in daylight.

But with Brienne. . .he could stare at her for hours. He loved waking up next to her. He liked their smell on her sheets. Went mad for _her_ smell on his sheets.

“I think I’ll sublet Dad’s apartment,” she told him, continuing the thread of conversation. “It will bring some money.”

He stared at the ceiling then her. “Only if the money goes to you, wench.”

“ _I_ want it to go to the shop.”

“It’s not right. You’ve already put up money for the renovation.” He pointed out. “Compensated employees’ pay during the days the shop was closed. It’s too much.”

A moment of quiet then she asked, “You’re not. . .I can’t believe I’m thinking this but for my own peace of mind, I guess I’ll have to say it out loud.”

“What?”

“You’re not worried I’m usurping your authority, are you?”

He looked at her, stunned. She looked genuinely worried. “Because that’s not my intention at all, Jaime. I want to help. I need-I need this part of my Dad’s legacy alive. I can’t. . .I can’t _not_ give it all I have.”

Seven Hells, maybe he should tell her the truth now. How he was secretly supplying Margaery’s restaurant with chocolate cream pies to add to the profits of The Sapphire Patisserie. How he’d thrown in his body to sweeten the deal. Not just with her. But with Sansa. With Ros. Perhaps if Brienne knew now that he’d used his body in exchange for extending the deadline of the loan payment, she would stop being so worried about it.

The words were there. He only had to say them. The sentences. He already had the phrasing. But he could only look helplessly at her. Fearful that the man she saw and worried for was not him at all. Before it was next to nothing signing his cock on whatever agreement had been reached with the women. It was only fucking. Plus it didn’t feel like an extra chore because they were gorgeous. And he liked fucking.

But for Brienne to know that about him. . .once she knew that he was no longer the great pastry chef the culinary world worshipped—it was too horrible an idea to contemplate. Maybe he should have told her from the beginning. Then she wouldn’t have spent money on the shop.

And The Sapphire Patisserie would be gone. Gone because of his incompetence. His uselessness.

“N-No. I never thought that,” he told her honestly. He kissed the frown lines between her eyebrows before pulling her on top of him. He swept her messy hair back and looked in her eyes. “It’s just. . .I don’t. . .I worry that you might think I’m only with you because of your bank account.”

She shook her head slowly. “That never crossed my mind.”

“Good.”

“But I’m glad you told me.” She kissed him. “Still, will you let me, Jaime?”

_Tell her._

He held her tighter. There was no way things could go back to the way they were once she knew. He will also never get to hold her again.

“Can’t I think about it?”

“Okay.” She put her head on his chest. Her feet dangled from the edge of the bed. “Please don’t take too long, though?”

He laughed and kissed her on the forehead.

*******  
On the weekend they had set to drive to the Arbor region in The Reach, weather forecast predicted that the first snows of winter would fall. Rather than waiting until early Saturday morning to drive, Jaime moved their trip to begin Friday afternoon. They traded shifts with Shae and Jon, the latter receiving instructions from Jaime that until his return, he was in charge of everything concerning the shop.

Jaime was waiting for Brienne right across her building, a cocky, easy smile on his handsome face while leaning against the truck. She hurried to him, meeting his grin with one of her own. As sure as she was of the hard ground under her boots, the sun warming her face despite the cold air, part of her still couldn’t believe this trip had come. That this was real.

She only began believing it when, soon after stashing her leather case in the backseat, he suddenly pinned her against the truck with a kiss that should never be seen by the public. She could have stopped it if only she wasn’t _very eager_ to push her tongue in his mouth.

It was insane how she wanted someone so much. Her need greater than air or even the instinct to survive. She wanted to fuse, to melt into him so they were one flesh, one bone. He took advantage of her enthusiastic response by slipping his hands under her heavy coat then her sweater to play with her tits. Her cautious mewl became a filthy moan of approval and want, want, want. He pressed his hips deeper between the cradle of her thighs. He was hard.

She trembled, not from anxiety over the possibility of getting caught but wondering if he would dare to fuck her in the street, in broad daylight, with people around them. Her head was hot and her breathing quick and unsteady. As their tongues sparred, his hand left her tits to sneak under her skirt.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, ending their kiss suddenly. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open in disbelief as Jaime, the corners of his eyes crinkling deep with his smile, cupped her cunt. “I can’t—I can’t believe you. _Oh._ ”

He laughed as she grabbed his face and kissed him furiously. Her hips rocked against his hand, whose fingers were now nudging the front of her panties aside. “You _are_ a wench,” he groaned. “A very wet wench.”

“We’re going to get arrested,” she whispered. “Fuck you for teasing me like this.”

“ _Fuck you_ for looking like you’re hungry for my cock all the time,” he growled. She panted against his mouth as a thumb flicked at her clit. She was red feeling, _hearing_ , her juices wetting his palm. She didn’t know if he was being cruel or merciful when he suddenly pulled away. He buried his face against her shoulder.

“We can’t risk the cops,” he murmured. She almost sagged in relief until a soft, tearing sound came from under her skirt. He pulled out his hand to show her ripped panties. She burst out laughing then pressed her mouth against his leather-clad shoulder to muffle it. His own body shook from laughter too.

“I don’t know whether to applaud you or think you a fool,” she said when she had calmed a bit.

“Wench, let’s just say I don’t require a lot of brain cells around you. Only pure animal instinct.” He remarked, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead by standing on tiptoes. Then he walked around the truck. As Brienne opened the passenger door, she saw him toss her ruined panties in the garbage bin.

He entered the car and turned the ignition. “Tell me you’ve decided to surprise me by not bringing any more panties.”

“Then it won’t be a surprise,” she rejoined. She put on her seatbelt.

“You like torturing me, don’t you?”

“Very much.”

“See? A real wench you are.” He smirked. “Thank the gods.”

As he guided the car back to the street, Brienne rubbed her stomach. “I hope you’ve scheduled a pit stop for food on the way. We haven’t had lunch.” 

“Ah, wench. Look in the back. There should be a cooler there.”

Brienne cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you packed us lunch.”

“Of course I did. Smoked salmon and egg sandwiches. There’s also a couple of juice cartons there. Over my dead body you’ll eat fast food or something unbelievably greasy and unhealthy.”

“Jaime,” she said, lifting the cover and finding the items he had promised. The sandwiches were wrapped in foil—she counted four—and then orange juice cartons. She got a sandwich and settled back in her seat. Unwrapping it, she remarked, “if I can’t eat fast food anymore, I’ll have to re-think about continuing to fuck you.”

He snorted. “Are you telling me I’m up against fucking chicken nuggets? Me, the best fuck of your life?”

“Have you ever had chicken nuggets?”

She laughed and he smiled at her. Both knew that he could never resist greasy fast-food burgers, his fucking stand on commercial meat be damned. Before taking a bite of the sandwich, she flushed and stammered, “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t ask if you wanted one?”

“It’s alright, wench. I’m not hungry yet. Go ahead and eat.”

As expected, the sandwich was very, very good. But being around Jaime for the next three hours without the need for radio or music to break the monotony was even better.

Most of their time together involved work, sharing meals and fucking. They talked but often to tease each other, or to worry about the shop. Sometimes they spoke about Selwyn.

In between bites of the sandwich and sips of juice she held to him, she got to know more about Jaime. He told her his favorite color was red—crimson, to be exact, but lately he preferred the vivid blue of sapphire. He wasn’t a big fan of reading due to dyslexia as a child. When he did read, he leaned towards vintage recipe collections and espionage thrillers. His favorite kind of movie was anything set in a medieval fantasy.

His favorite spice was juniper berry, which was only available in the Vale region. He hated parsley. He loved broccoli and Brussels sprouts but wasn’t a big fan of aubergines and yellow bell peppers. He loved to eat meat, grossing her out with the confession that he liked steak to be extra rare.

He made her hot with the revelation he had brought lube and had every intention of using it. He smirked as she squirmed in her seat.

“Would you like that, wench? I remember your okay when we spoke about it before, but would you like my cock in your ass?”

She shook the collar of her sweater around her neck. “I-I do. I want—I want it because it’s you, Jaime. Do you—do you like doing it that way?”

He hesitated, grasping the gear shift to adjust. “Yes. Very much. And I know once I fuck you like that. . .I’d want repeats.”

During a stop for gas at a self-service station, he asked her questions next. He grinned when she said blue was her favorite color and was all ears when she told him about enjoying commercials more than TV shows as a kid. He was surprised to find out that she worked various jobs throughout college. Money was not a problem, but she was hungry for experience in the advertising field. She had worked as a photographer’s assistant, picking up lessons from every photo shoot, an assistant to a food stylist, various intern jobs.

“Did you ever think about taking it easy, wench?” He asked when they were back on the road.

“Of course I do,” she said. “But while I’m young and able, and have no attachments, why should I?”

“You know what,” he mused, “I have no idea how old you are.”

She chuckled. “Same here. How old are you, really?”

He let out a long sigh. “Forty-four. How young are you?”

“Oh, not that young anymore. Thirty-six.”

They were an hour and a half away from reaching Arbor, driving through long, curving country roads flanked by trees jostling at each other when Jaime gave her a look so heated, so hungry that Brienne knew it could only mean one thing. He pulled over on the side of the road, under some trees.

They fucked a few meters away from the truck. The golden leaves carpeting the ground rustled to the rhythm of their rocking bodies. Her cunt straining around his massive cock, she arched her spine in pleasure. The rays of the sun kissed her spit-slicked nipples until Jaime’s mouth closed around one plump tip then the other. She cradled his head to her tits, loving the smell of his hair, the greedy, long draws of his mouth on a nipple. His cock.

She didn’t care that she was only wearing the garter belt, stockings and boots, in a place that, while quiet, could still be invaded by someone driving past or worse, who might also stop for a breather. Her mind was consumed only with Jaime. Jaime looking at her with longing and tenderness, the soft, half-smile that never left his face once they were a good distance away from the city.

He was a handsome man but was breathtaking when relaxed, happy. If she had the power to ensure he felt only that, she would do it. Give everything she had, she vowed as she spread her legs wide for his tongue. Her shrieks of ecstasy ascended the sky as he slurped her cunt clean of their combined juices.

As he picked up her scattered clothes while she stood covering her tits and pussy, he looked up at her from his kneeling position.

“Can you imagine a day without having my cock in you, wench?”

She looked at him, knowing he could be trusted with the truth. “I don’t want to. It-It scares me.”

He seemed surprised by her answer. But he said, very softly, “Me too.”

“Remember. . .remember when you told me early on. . .when we began our thing,” she stammered as he held out the skirt to her for her to step into. He pulled it up. Hugging her tits and he straightened to his full height. “You said you want me to feel wrong without you inside me. I don’t feel wrong, but I know I’m not. . .I’m not at ease without you inside. I can’t. . .I can’t imagine anymore how it was before. Before you were inside me.”

“I remember,” he told her. “It’s fucking bleak, wench. Maybe that’s another reason why I don’t want to stop fucking you. I want to forget how it was before you.”

He handed her the t-shirt while holding on to her sweater and coat. She put it on. His eyes rested on her nipples trying to poke through the cloth before looking at her face.

She was trembling. “Do you think there will come a time when we’d both be okay. . .not fucking? Like not fucking for more than a day, two days. . .a year?”

“I don’t know, wench. Do you think you’ll stop getting so wet around me?”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know.”

He lifted her skirt and sniffed. “I can smell you all the time, you know.”

“Um, I don’t think that’s. . .Jaime, isn’t that a little eww?” She asked, wrinkling her nose.

He chuckled. “No. I promise it’s nothing like that. But I swear, I can smell _all the_ time how _wet_ you are. How much you want my cock. I hope I’m the only one who can smell it, Brienne. I don’t want anyone else knowing how you smell. It’s just for me. Isn’t it?”

He looked worried. So she cradled his face and looked in his eyes. “It’s yours. It’s only yours, Jaime.”

She finished putting the rest of her clothes back on. They held hands walking back to the truck.

Even before they drove past the sign welcoming visitors to Arbor, Brienne was certain she could already smell wine in the air. The Arbor was known for its vast vineyards and farms. She feasted her eyes on rolling fields of green but thinking that the green of Jaime’s eyes was more beautiful than anything. She noticed cows grazing, sheep, dogs barking at these animals.

Jaime drove into town. Except for dozens of wine shops lining the streets as well as billboards and posters advertising wine-related activities and jobs, Arbor’s town center was no different from any small town.

Their last stop before the cabin was the local supermarket. They shared secret, knowing smiles while pulling leaves and twigs from each other’s hair missed during the first clean-up. Her knees were still wobbly from their impromptu roadside tussle but once his hand closed around hers, her strides steadied.

Having to prove she was just as good, if not better than the men in advertising had given her the confidence many wanted to chip away. The continued silence of a new employer or any advertising job would have wrecked it. But Jaime was there. In the last few weeks, he had become her anchor. Gave her a kind of certainty.

“I’m glad we don’t need those anymore,” Jaime commented as they walked past a shelf of condoms. “It feels incredible when it’s just you.”

“I like having just you,” she told him.

They filled a cart with fresh tomatoes, onions, a package of pasta, eggs, cornflakes and all the food that caught their eye. Jaime paid with his credit card then they wheeled the cart to the truck.

Jaime followed Brienne’s directions to Ellaria’s cabin. She glanced at her watch. Back in the city, it would still be light out. Sunset wouldn’t be for another few hours. But in The Reach, it looked like night fell faster.

“What exactly does Ellaria do that she can afford a cabin here?” Jaime asked. “The Arbor has one of the priciest real estate.”

“I haven’t told you? Thought I had,” she said. “She’s a financial analyst. And she owns other properties elsewhere.”

He grinned. “Nice to be friends with someone like that,” he joked.

“How did you meet? I think you mentioned once she grew up in Dorne?”

“Yes. We met when Dad transferred me to a private school in the tenth grade. He thought that maybe in a ‘civilized’ environment the bullying would stop.” Jaime gave her a curious look and she shrugged. In truth she didn’t like talking about that part of her life. It was still painful.

“I was mercilessly bullied for my height, for my looks nearly my whole life. I was six feet tall by the time I was fourteen. Sports could have shielded me, but I wasn’t really interested. I liked to read. I enjoyed art. When Dad was able to afford it, he put me in private school. There was still a lot of teasing, just more eloquently, I guess.” She said with a rueful smile. “Ellaria was the only person who was kind to me. She wasn’t too popular either. Besides being Dornish, it was also an open secret she was the child of a married senator’s mistress. Cruelty isn’t just from adults.”

Running from relentless torment may be how their friendship began but through the years, they became each other’s rock. She and Ellaria would always be there for each other.

She watched Jaime take in her words. Over time, the very things people had ridiculed her for became her armor. She knew she was no beauty. But she was a hard worker. She had been great at her old job. They mattered more than looking like a pin-up.

“Just you know,” Jaime said softly. He took her hand and kissed it. “You’re great as you are. There’s nothing I’d change about you.”

She blushed and kissed his hand too. “Thank you. And just so you know, I admire you, Jaime. A lot.”

She thought his eyes looked extra shiny for a second but maybe it was only the sun. They continued to hold hands as he drove past farmlands.

“Do you come here often?” She asked.

“Not as much as I’d like,” he confessed. “But during my culinary school days, I always worked here in the summer. The farm we’re visiting tomorrow—” a quiet, proud look touched his face— “I helped Blackfish with it. You name it, I did it. For the farm. And for him.”

“How did he get that nickname? I mean, he’s, what’s his real name again—”

“Brynden Tully.”

“Sexy name.”

“Hey.” He pretended to frown.

“What did he teach?”

“I had him for two courses. I had him for Artisanal Chocolates and then Farm to Fork.” At her disbelieving look, he laughed. “I swear. Those are real courses, wench. Definitely not as boring as. . .what? Finance 101?”

“Fine. You had cooler studies.” She conceded. “Was he your mentor?”

“In school, yeah. Took me under his wing. Every chef and decent cook would tell you that nothing beats fresh ingredients. But Brynden Tully taught me to examine and appreciate where those ingredients come from and how fresh they really are. To him it didn’t matter what you could do to the food. Didn’t matter how good of a cook you are. It was your responsibility not just to use fresh ingredients but to know where they come from. That people didn’t starve themselves just so you’d have food on your plate.”

She gave the last directions to the cabin. Ellaria’s property was a lot smaller than the farms. It was at least two miles away from the nearest house and bordered by the woods and a river. Jaime joked that it was either the perfect location for a murder or loud sex.

The log cabin was two stories high, surrounded by a porch. Brienne found the key taped under the frame of one of the windows then unlocked the front door. A musty, dusty smell greeted them upon opening the door. She switched on the lights and went to open every window to let fresh, cool air in. Then she went to help Jaime get their bags and food from the truck.

“This is great,” Jaime said, noting the red-bricked fireplace. The interior was a mix of rustic and modern. Colorful lush rugs rendered their footsteps into barely a hush. The furniture consisted of sofas and chairs that called for lazy lounging but upholstered in Meereenese silk. A genuine direwolf fur throw was draped on one of the chairs.

The kitchen was made bright with white cabinets and shelves made, according to Brienne, from reclaimed wood. The marble slab of the kitchen island was vintage. Jaime liked how the copper pots and pans were hung on a wall in a way that they looked decorative. Next to them was an antique butcher block. The floor was made of paved, aged bricks. Rustic as the kitchen was, it had a modern stove, oven, dishwasher and a fridge.

“Which room are we staying in?” Jaime asked, carrying his duffel bag and her elegant small travel. He stood by the stairs.

“Uh, the master suite. It’s down the hall. To the right.”

While Jaime brought their things to the room, Brienne went out to the back of the house to turn on the fuse and from the toolshed, get some firewood. When she returned, Jaime was back in the kitchen and removing the food from the bags

The cabin’s kitchen was small and with two people their size, it felt a lot smaller. But Jaime and Brienne were able to cook together with hardly any trouble. As he pulsed cherries and apples in the food processor, she boiled tomatoes and chopped garlic and onions. Conversation flowed easily despite being deep into their separate tasks.

Her fresh pasta sauce would take at least an hour and a half. Jaime’s chocolate cherry tarts had to be cooled for a couple of hours but required more steps before getting to that step. So while he made the pulsed cherries and apples into a jam, she took a shower upstairs.

When she told Ellaria about the trip, her friend had offered to take her shopping for lingerie and sexy sleepwear. Brienne had balked at the idea. She had never been comfortable in ultra-feminine wear—anything with too much lace and sensuous silk made her break out in hives. Ellaria suggested getting extra-nice underwear instead. Brienne didn’t have the heart to tell her that with Jaime, those panties were wasted.

Still, she got a couple of pairs of simple but sheer, mesh panties. They were very impractical, in her opinion—more delicate than tissue, certainly not the type to keep you warm in the winter. But she wanted to make a little effort for Jaime. He was the sure thing but she didn’t want to take that for granted.

Then there was also the matter of the other women.

They had never spoken about being exclusive but because they each got tested for diseases before being asked, to her it meant they weren’t going to fuck anyone else. In the beginning of their affair, she had convinced herself she didn’t care if Jaime fucked other women besides herself.

She realized now she had been bullshitting herself.

She dressed in track pants, a tank top under a long-sleeved t-shirt then pushed her feet in her fluffy slippers before rejoining him in the kitchen.

The aroma of chocolate and vanilla filled the cabin. She jogged down the last steps of the stairs, hurrying to the kitchen. Jaime’s back faced her, whisking something in a bowl. “Oh, gods. This is how Seven Heavens smells,” she proclaimed, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. She kissed him on the neck. He smelled of cherries. “You smell gorgeous.”

He chuckled, reaching behind to squeeze her on the ass. “Thanks, wench.”

“Can I help?” She asked, not wanting to let go yet.

“No need. I’m almost done.”

She kissed him again and went to the island. She had already done the necessary prep work for the sauce so all she could do was wait for him to finish. She watched Jaime take the bowl to the island then open the fridge to take out a flat rectangular tray. It also smelled of chocolate.

“Here, wench. Taste this.” Jaime dipped a finger in the bowl of chocolate and cream. She took his hand and sucked his digits. Besides the sweetness of the mixture, she tasted the very slight briny note of his skin too. She sucked him clean, all while holding his gaze.

“It’s good.” She whispered, licking her lips. He leaned down for a kiss, tongue dipping to taste her tongue. As she giggled, he pulled away, experimentally licking his lips.

“Oh, fuck it is. And you taste good too, wench.” He winked. “Maybe you should keep your distance for the next five minutes. I might maul you on the kitchen floor and we’d have no dinner.”

She laughed. “You’re ridiculous. And I won’t forgive you if we don’t get any dinner.”

While Jaime spread the mixture over the cooled pastry, she began work on the sauce. It wasn’t the three-hour recipe passed down by Selwyn but she still made the sauce from scratch.

Soon, the earthy aroma of tomatoes chased away the chocolate perfuming the air. She laughed when she caught him rubbing his palms excitedly. “We’re going to be dining like the Seven tonight.”

“That’s the hope,” she said, dipping the wooden spoon for a taste.

After he put the tart back in the fridge to chill and set, he kissed her on the nape then went off, muttering about a shower. Brienne stirred and watched the sauce, adjusting the flavor now and then. She tossed finely chopped threads of saffron then sprinkled salt.

Dinner took a total of two and a half hours to prepare. It was a simple meal of pasta in homemade tomato sauce with portobello mushrooms, sprinkled liberally with fresh basil. They toasted glasses of sangiovese, bought from one of the local wine shops in town. Brienne announced she was going to get drunk and Jaime agreed enthusiastically. Neither stuck to the usual half glass of wine for the entire meal. They were still refilling their goblets and toasting when they moved on to the chocolate cherry tarts.

They tumbled drunkenly into bed, kissing and laughing while getting rid of clothes. As Jaime clumsily pulled off his pants, Brienne, who was already in bed, starting moving to the edge, sliding there with the soles of her feet and her back. She only stopped when her upper body hung halfway past the mattress, when she could only see his cock and balls.

He knelt over her, spreading his legs wide over her face. He pinched her nipples, pushed fingers in the sopping mess of her cunt. She opened her mouth wide, sucking his cock down to her throat while squeezing his balls. He smelled of soap and the dark, intimate scent traced only to this part of his body, the scent only a lover would know. He growled at her to widen her legs some more. Long fingers plunged roughly in and out of her cunt, her juices splashing all over her thighs, the bed. She groaned around his surging cock, sliding her mouth off it to catch a breath before tonguing one of his balls next. She played with his foreskin, thumbing the slick head of his cock.

He came all over her tits and stomach with a guttural roar, the sound of a lion leading his pride to war. She continued to writhe and squirm from his fingers pushing and curling in her cunt, stoking a fire within her hotter than Seven Hells.

_“Jaime!”_

Blackness swept over her like a shroud. She continued to scream, blindly pawing for his body until she grasped the hard curve of his ass. Desperate to hold on, round fingernails sank in the supple flesh, drawing a sharp cry of both pain and encouragement from him.

She must have blacked out, she realized a few moments later. Slowly coming to, she found herself lying fully on the bed, a plumped pillow under her head. Her tits were still wet. Beside her, Jaime was flat on his back but with his head turned to her. He had covered them with a blanket up to their waists.

“You were out,” he said, catching the question in her eyes. He ran a finger up and down her shoulder. “I thought you’d died,” he joked.

“I think I did,” she admitted, cuddling closer. He turned too, putting his head on the nook between her neck and shoulder. She put her arms around him, smiling and blushing as he licked her nipple. “That was unbelievable.”

“It fucking was,” he agreed. He looked up at her. “Brienne?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t want to stop fucking you. Not just because you’re always wet and you’re the best fuck I’ve had. You. All of you.”

He smirked as she froze. “I just thought to say it, wench. You don’t have to make any vow or say anything. Take all the time you need. But I want you to know that.”

Long after he fell asleep, Brienne was still wide awake. His declaration was far from unsettling, but she couldn’t seem to forget it long enough to try sleeping. Instead, she kept busy kissing him all over. Her lips brushed lightly up and down his legs, her breath stirring the golden hairs. Driving, cooking and fucking her had worn him out more than usual, she realized when he continued to sleep.

She swept hair from his face, covered his bearded cheek and chin with the lightest of kisses while caressing his chest gently. She took a deep whiff from his neck, the scent of his sweat and their fucking intoxicating her faster than the most potent wine.

Watching him through eyes growing heavy with sleep at last, she spoke the words that had been etched in her heart for a while.

“I think I love you already, Jaime.”

A second later, he began to snore. She covered her mouth to muffle her giggle. “Asshole,” she whispered fondly, putting her arms around him again. Fused to his body, smelling him, breathing as one with him, she finally fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brienne made a case out of Jaime having to let go of underperforming staff to cut on costs in an early chapter. It might be odd that they hired more people than terminated but The Sapphire Patisserie is raking in more money than before, although it's still not enough for them to fully pay the debt before the deadline. But they're finally able to pay one month so they're not in awful shape.
> 
> Robin Arryn and Olyvar aren't re-hired, for reasons already stated in previous chapters too.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kingsland and its problems seemed so far away. Another world. He could get lost in the illusion of being a different person. A man without much burden, who had been lucky enough to snare the heart and cunt of a woman who understood him down to last atom that made up his being. 
> 
> In his ears was sweet birdsong, the soft wind ruffling his hair like the caress of a lover. Brienne.

“A fool, everyone called me,” Brynden Tully drawled. His laugh had a mocking lilt and the sharpness of a well-honed blade. Sinister if not for the warmth of his deep blue eyes, and the jovial pat of his big hand on Jaime’s shoulder as they walked. “Whatever spirit I was drinking had to be poisoned. What madman would turn away from wine to raise something as barbaric as pigs?” He flung a long arm in the direction of the animal in question quietly munching on grass.

“My father, his father, and his father all made wine,” he continued. “Wine kept generations of Tullys fed. But tell me, Jaime, how can that still be possible today when every piece of land has fucking grapes sprouting from it? What’s the point of wine without food, eh?”

Jaime looked around. The farmlands of his summers were still vast but rather than fields of grapes, they were grazing lands on which many pigs, a few cows and some dogs ran around freely. He heard the faint quack of ducks somewhere. The land was not all for grazing, however. Over the years, structures had been built to house the animals during the night, and he knew Brynden, or the Blackfish as the older man liked to be called, also kept a modest office there. There was also a small shop where visitors could buy the organic meat Blackfish Farm produced, as well as fresh vegetable and fruits grown here.

Leaning against a fence, Jaime said, “It’s like nothing has changed but things are different now. The air still smells like pig shit, though.” He grinned as the Blackfish chuckled. “Fresh pig shit.”

“You should visit more often,” The Blackfish playfully scolded him. “Running your own pastry shop is no excuse.”

“I come out here whenever I could,” Jaime replied. He smiled at him. “It’s good to see you.”

“Ah, same, Jaime. And you brought Selwyn’s daughter along.” He looked past his shoulder. Jaime turned to see Brienne talking with Edmure Tully, Blackfish’s nephew.

“I wish I’d known he died. Would have made the trek just for him. He was one of the great ones. The last great one. But I would like to believe I’m wrong about him being the last.” He glanced at Jaime.

“Pretty big shoes to fill there, true.” Jaime said absently, watching Brienne listen as Edmure made what appeared to be a passionate discussion regarding the land. He kept gesturing with his hands. Jaime tried not to roll his eyes.

Edmure was only a year younger. Though Jaime had spent most of his summers here during his culinary school days, he never got to be friends with Edmure. Edmure had railed hard against Blackfish’s decision to stop making wine. Though they eventually made amends, Jaime thought that whether this land remained a farm or returned to producing wine, it would not thrive long under Edmure. He was the sole heir, which Jaime had never been jealous about. But he wasn’t even half the man his uncle was. Blackfish was a man you followed. One only remembered Edmure when he whined, and then quickly forgot him. It had been incessant during the days they were converting the vineyard into farmland.

“She looks like him,” Blackfish remarked. “Selwyn had always been so proud of his little girl. She’s terrifically tall.” The admiration in his tone was fatherly. “When he lost his wife, he lived just for his daughter.”

“So you’ve known him that long? Longer?”

He smiled. “We used to be rivals. Selwyn was always getting the best job offers. He was never a shit about it even when he had every right to be. You want a man like that for a friend.” Turning serious, he then said, “Jaime, you’re not just stringing along the daughter, I hope? She’s too good for that.”

“If that’s all she is, I wouldn’t have brought her along.”

“Good. We don’t want Selwyn coming back from the dead to break your neck. To have that burden upon me, one that requires little to no effort, will just be a small victory.” He patted him on the back again to know he was kidding. But Jaime saw caution in his eyes.

“How did you convince your woman in having me as your meat supplier?” Blackfish asked. “She didn’t try telling you to just get bacon from the store?”

“She’s not _my_ woman,” Jaime replied, shifting his weight. “And try not to say something like that within her hearing. Have you seen the size of her hands? I’m pretty sure she can break your head with just one hand.”

Blackfish grinned. “She sounds perfect.”

“As for getting you as supplier, this is just a trial run. I’d love it to be a more permanent arrangement but she’s really watching our production costs and the shop is still in the red. Getting the meat from out here and making the bacon ourselves is certainly more work and money. So we will have to convince her to give quality priority over efficiency, not to mention the minimized environmental impact.”

“It will be a while before she can consider that luxury. Your business has just re-branded. You have debts to pay. But I can sell you the meat at a discount—”

“Blackfish, no—”

“Yes. I want to do it. And no, don’t be pressured in having me as your permanent supplier. Now’s not the time yet. You still need to see if the oathporkers will be successful a year, two years from now and not just because it’s new.” Blackfish said. “Allow me to help you, Jaime.”

“It’s too much.” Jaime insisted.

“I think it’s a reasonable arrangement.”

“Brienne will not approve.”

“She will if you’re on board. Why won’t you let me help you?” When Jaime didn’t answer, Blackfish clapped his hands. “It’s done, then. I’ll knock off twenty percent—”

“Twenty percent is too much—”

“Fine. Seventeen percent. Take it or leave it.”

Cornered and feeling like a fraud, Jaime hung his head. “Thank you. Really this is—I appreciate it, Blackfish.” 

Brienne was the first to catch up as she and Edmure rejoined them. Her hair was windblown, tendrils striping across her red cheeks. She wore a heavy faux shearling jacket over a sweater. Faded jeans and the stained, old boots borrowed from Blackfish made her look like she had lived in the farm her whole life. Jaime was pleased when she reached for his hand, the slanting gaze she gave him soft and full of yearning.

“I swear she’s pulling my leg,” Edmure told Jaime as they walked together. “Brienne said you put bacon on your cupcakes.”

“A novel and truly delicious idea,” she declared firmly, wrapping her other hand around Jaime’s arm.

“And here I thought the chocolate pasta you made in class was out there,” Blackfish said, chuckling from the memory. Brynden made a face.

“Chocolate sauce?” Brienne looked at Blackfish then Jaime, who grinned. “You’re not joking.”

“He really did. Spicy Dornish paste, melted chocolate, a shitload of clams, mussels and prawns then spaghetti.” Blackfish kissed his fingertips. “Still the most unexpected and eclectic and delicious pasta dish I’ve had. You must get him to make it for you.”

“Well. . .I won’t say no.” She replied as Jaime kissed the back of her hand.

“Trust Jaime to make food with ingredients that you never thought should even be together. That’s what separates a chef from a cook who just dabbles. A chef has this bond with food. God-like, if you will,” Blackfish said, ignoring Jaime, who was shaking his head. “It’s not that you’re able to make ingredients bend to your will but you have this kind of secret knowledge about how to make what clashes work divinely. Jaime never had trouble with that.”

Blackfish’s obvious pride should make Jaime feel like ten feet tall. Instead he wanted to fling himself into a ten-food-deep grave. Or a shallow one. The kind where he could easily be dug up by wild animals to feast on his decaying body. It almost killed him to see Brienne smiling at him proudly too. _If they only knew._

“He exaggerates,” was all he could say, prompting a loud bellow from Blackfish.

“Don’t be so modest all the time,” Brienne told him. “You really are a fantastic chef. I believe in you.”

“Ah.” Blackfish winked at Brienne then grinned at Jaime. “I like her. A lot. Come on,” he urged them. “It’s getting a lot colder and it isn’t even noon yet. Let’s get some food in you before snow falls today.”

“Can I help cook? I mean, if it’s alright,” Brienne blushed. Jaime just wanted to kiss her. She probably thought herself presumptuous that a chef of Brynden’s caliber would welcome assistance in the kitchen, good as her intentions were.

“Of course! I never have guests just be idle. Thank you,” Blackfish held out an arm to her. “Let’s go. I’ll show you how a real man handles meat, Brienne.” He leaned close to her and whispered loudly, “I’m having Jaime just pick the vegetables and do the salad. That’s about all he can do.”

Brienne laughed, grinned at Jaime and let the older man pull her to the main house. Edmure put his hands in his pockets. “I have to pop in the shop for a bit, make give word to the employees they can leave before their shift ends if the snow gets too heavy. Would you like to come with me?”

“Nah. I have to show your uncle that salad is _the_ manly domain.”

Remembering the vegetable garden when they were first shown around, Jaime quickly headed there.

It was just as he remembered. Plots of vegetables grouped neatly, their availability depending on the season. Jaime went to a small tool shed where gardening equipment was stored. He found a basket, pruning shears and a hand trowel. He tossed them in the basket and went around the garden to look for the vegetable that would inspire a salad.

A couple of his summers went to raking this portion of the land to prepare it for new, seasonal crops. It was brutal work. Harder than being on the kitchen, being on his feet all day and blasted with heat in all directions. While school taught him the proper way of slicing, cutting, chopping, food preparation, storage, being in Blackfish’s farm gave him a whole new appreciation for production.

He walked past the cluster of spinach, briefly considered broccoli, even kale. Then past the pumpkin and winter squash. Potatoes? He made a face. Because there was so much to be done with the potato, he found it the safest and most uninspiring. You could never go wrong with any dish where it was the main ingredient. He liked to test the limits. Let his imagination run wild. He knelt to examine the okra but couldn’t come up with a recipe for it. _Some other time._ He moved on and found a crop of beets.

_Ah._

He got on his knees, using the hand trowel to gather them. Roasted beets in a salad, he thought, grunting for the soft earth to yield the vegetable. The soil was cool rather the familiar warmth he knew so well. He didn’t like wearing gloves for a job like this. This was the best way to get hands dirty. An intimacy too, come to think about it, man shared with earth and food.

He paused in the task to take in the vastness of the land. From where he was, Kingsland and its problems seemed so far away. Another world. He could get lost in the illusion of being a different person. A man without much burden, who had been lucky enough to snare the heart and cunt of a woman who understood him down to last atom that made up his being.

In his ears was sweet birdsong, the soft wind ruffling his hair like the caress of a lover. _Brienne._ He didn’t know how else to sleep now except in her arms, with her thick but gentle fingers in his hair. The warmth of the sun that managed to penetrate the colder air was almost like the sleepy hush of her breath in sleep.

He laughed. I am alive, and drunk on sunlight.

He resumed wrestling the beets off the ground. As he put another in the growing pile in the basket, he looked around. He was sure there were fresh avocados in the kitchen when they were shown around the house upon arriving. Roasted beets with avocados, he thought, digging again. And arugula. He didn’t know what to do for the dressing yet, but he hoped there was flaky cheese in the house.

He picked up the basket and returned trowel and shears to the shed before going back to the house. He made sure to dust his borrowed boots first on the mat before going inside.

“There you are,” Blackfish greeted him as soon as he set foot in the kitchen. Jaime sniffed the air.

“That’s pork,” he remarked, putting the basket on the counter. He kissed Brienne on the cheek. She was scooping out seeds and stringy parts from the pumpkin. Her bright eyes told him she was having fun.

“I did some advance preparation,” Blackfish told him. “So now the pork is just being reheated. But we still have an hour or so because the pumpkin has to be baked.”

“The salad will take as long too,” Jaime replied. “I figured I can roast the beets. Do you have goat cheese or feta?”

“Does the septon whack off to the Seven?” Blackfish smiled at Brienne. “Oops. Ladies present.”

“Not much of a lady, actually,” she assured him. He laughed.

“You should bring her back here, Jaime. Or maybe you should just come here yourself, Brienne.”

The conversation distracted them from the length of time cooking the meal. Blackfish asked Jaime and Brienne about The Sapphire Patisserie, or he shared anecdotes about Selwyn to Brienne. Jaime was glad how easily Brienne took to his other mentor and vice versa. She became even more desirable to him—desirable in ways that defied names but felt so acutely.

He cleared his throat softly, shifting in the seat when his cock stirred. Just then, Brienne met his stare. She turned a lovely shade of apple.

“Blackfish, can I use your bathroom?” She asked.

“Of course, dear.” He gave her instructions to use the facilities near the den. Jaime waited for several minutes.

“I need to get something from the truck. I won’t be long,” he told his friend.

Blackfish looked up from his task, his expression too bland. “Don’t hurry back.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jaime said, hoping he was not blushing. He tried not to run out of the kitchen.

Remembering the instructions given to Brienne, he headed in that direction. He made sure to open and slam the front door quickly, to give the impression he really had gone out. Then quietly went to the bathroom.

“Wench?” he asked through the door, knocking softly.

“Come in,” she answered.

He found her leaning against the sink, clad only in her sweater and nude from the waist down. Her jeans hung on a hook behind the door and her boots against the wall. He was torn between shouting his thanks to the gods or dropping to his knees to worship her pussy. Scrawl a prayer on her clit with tongue.

“I would honestly be insane to stop fucking you,” he said huskily while working on his belt and jeans. Her flushed face was nothing short of delectable. Her eyes bluer in lust. And her pussy—

He closed his eyes while inhaling. There. The sweet, wet musk of her. He heard her move. When he opened his eyes, she was right in front of him, thick lips parted as her warm breath washed over his face. She smelled slightly of toothpaste and coffee.

“I want you all the time,” she confessed, taking his face in her hands while his jeans and boxers fell around his ankles with a thump. His eyes softened as she smiled softly. “But you know that already.”

“Don’t stop telling me, wench.” He whispered. “Kiss me.”

It was like being eaten alive by a too-eager maiden. Wet, artless and so fucking good. For some reason, as Jaime fucked Brienne’s mouth , he thought it was akin to attacking a meaty, fresh-off-the-grill juicy cheeseburger laden with a thick layer of cheese, crisp lettuce, firm, sun-ripened tomatoes enclosed in a fluffy bun.

Or he was the piece of meat being devoured.

He loved it.

They fucked seated on the toilet, with the lid closed. Her back flush to his chest, she rode him with rough but sensuous grace. Her hands messed up his hair as he sucked her neck, all while keeping a firm grip on her tits and pussy. Seven above. She was drenched. _Pouring._

For the longest time he lived to cook. To bake. He got off on the stability of precise measurements of ingredients. That was his compass. The kitchen his only world.

Being with Brienne in any way was to _live._ To thrive in the certainty of the unknown. Unafraid to be guided by his heart.

He gloried in the sharp quakes overtaking her big body as she came. Grunted as he muffled her cry of release with a yank at her hair, followed by a hard kiss on the mouth. Her pussy tightened around him like a hot fist, intent on trapping and squeezing every drop from him.

“I can’t believe us,” Brienne giggled moments later. She was on her feet and wiping semen from her thighs. “We’re going to be banned if we keep this up.”

Jaime grinned. She should look ridiculous with her red face and messy hair, stained massive thighs. The thick riot of dirty-blond pubic hairs should be a turn-off. And her giggle—hardly a girlish or feminine sound. Somehow, because it was Brienne, the unsexy made him hot. What should be undesirable had him panting after her like a desperate dog.

“I’m impressed, actually.” He showed the time on his watch. “We’ve been here for less than three minutes, wench. Come here. Let me help.”

He pocketed her damp panties but helped her into jeans. A kiss on her cunt then he pulled up the zipper. He stood up, peering critically at her hair. Her finger-combing only messed her hair some more. His hands did a much better job of righting it. He combed through the rough, pale locks until there was a desired lift. Then he fluffed underneath, coaxing little flips on the limp bob. There was nothing he could do about her mouth. Kiss-swollen, blown up to half the size of her face. The high collar of her sweater hid the two hickeys on her neck.

“Jaime?” She asked, stepping aside so he could wash his hands at the sink. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Last night. . .when you said you don’t want to stop fucking me. And before that when you said you probably don’t want to because. . .because before. . .before we fucked you thought things were pretty bleak? What if—and please don’t think I’m doubting you, but I need—” She looked at him helplessly. “I sound like a blathering idiot.”

“No,” he said firmly, looking at her through the mirror. “Never. Just ask, wench.”

“What if there comes a time. . .and you _want_ to stop? Or if things beyond our control put us in a place where we _have_ to stop?”

It was a shit scenario. But she had very reasonable concerns. Sure, now he was on fire for her. Constantly. But what if it ebbed? Or died completely?

It was a horrible thought. One that made his heart beat erratically and not in a way that connoted excitement or thrill. Cold dread.

As for them having to stop—

He shook his head and held her by the shoulders. He looked at her right in the eye.

“If the impossible happens that I want to stop, I will tell you. I won’t disappear or be the asshole who suddenly just pretends you don’t matter, Brienne. You can never be nothing to me. I will always be honest. Difficult as might get.”

Seven hells. He really should fulfill that vow soon.

“Second, and there’s really nothing else I can say, but I won’t let either of us be in a position where we have to stop. I’ll fight, Brienne.” His gaze hardened. “I’ll fight until it’s you and me. The only two people left in the world. I’m not letting you go easily, Brienne. I’ll fight to be with you. Unless. . .unless you tell me to leave.”

She shook her head. “That won’t happen.”

“Good. See to it.”

“I’ll fight too.”

He kissed her in both relief and gratitude.

“I trust you, Jaime.” She whispered, hugging him.

He held her, burying his face on her firm, warm shoulder. He didn’t deserve her. How in Seven Hells was he given somebody like Brienne? What good had he done? _When?_

Yet for all his doubts, he was never going to let her go. He was hers.

******

Edmure returned just as they finished cooking. After a lunch of cider-braised pork shoulder with butternut squash, roast beet salad with avocado and arugula with vinaigrette complemented with delicious, fruity rioja, Blackfish walked them to the door. Brienne watched as he hugged Jaime tightly, ruffling his hair and looking at him with the pride and love of a father. She bit her lip, remembering Selwyn.

“Brienne.” Blackfish spread his arms. She smiled and went for the hug he offered. “I loved meeting you, girl. Take care of Jaime. Don’t break his heart.”

“I won’t,” she whispered, kissing him on the cheek. As she pulled away, she added, “I’m glad to meet you. And I promise we will be visiting again.”

“Ah, I’ll take your word for it. Don’t be an oathbreaker like this bastard.” He said, pretending to roll his eyes at Jaime.

The drive back to the cabin took about half an hour. Despite the heat in the truck, Brienne noted the significant drop of temperature compared to this morning. She was warm under her heavy jacket and sweater but needed a cup of hot tea to combat the colder air.

During the drive, she and Jaime hardly spoke, lost in their own thoughts. Blackfish looked nothing like her dad but the affection between him and Jaime reminded her so much of what she had with him. It had been beautiful but also painful to watch. But the pain was worth it. Despite his golden hair and looking like he was carved by the gods from a piece of the sun, Jaime had looked right at home in this lush, green region in The Reach.

He pulled up in front of the cabin. They stepped out of the car, Brienne unlocking the front door of the house while Jaime fetched the box of wine Edmure had given them. There was also a package of pork belly from Blackfish.

“How do you feel about leftovers for dinner?” She asked as they entered the cabin. She took off her jacket."There's still enough sauce left over. And tarts.

“That’s alright. And I have an idea what we can do with the sauce,” he assured her. As he stored the wine then the meat, he said, “I thought to look around the land, see if I can collect some fresh herbs. Would you like to come with me, wench?”

“Snow will fall sometime this afternoon,” she pointed out. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll only be an hour at most.”

“Well, if you can come back earlier, all the better.” Brienne kissed him. “Do you mind if I just prefer to nap? I think the wine got to me. I don’t do so well with a lot of alcohol, I’m afraid.”

“Poor wench,” he remarked. “Alright. Go rest. You have aspirin?”

She nodded. “Just promise you won’t take too long. And keep your phone with you.”

“It’s fully-charged too. Relax. I know my way around here.”

Brienne suddenly frowned. He looked at her. “What?”

“There aren’t snakes here, are there?”

“We’re in the forest, wench. There’s bound to be. Don’t worry about them. I’m quite the wrangler. Should I catch one, I can cook it in some milk marinade—”

“No, no, no.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Pass, Jaime.”

He suddenly drew her into a tight embrace. She hugged him back. Will it ever get old, being pressed to his body? Smelling him, touching him? Being with him?

She already knew the answer. Rather than relaxing her hold, she held him tighter. “Jaime?”

“Wench, I’m glad you’re with me. I was dreading you might change your mind.”

“I confess to being a little surprised.” She kissed him. “Thank you for asking me, Jaime. I love being here, being with you. And to see you through the eyes of people that care for you,” she added, pulling away a little to look at him. “You’re a good man.”

He looked away. “Jaime, what is it?”

“Nothing, wench,” he said quickly. He kissed her hand. “Just that. . .I think the sooner I leave, the faster I’ll get back to you.”

“I can’t convince you to stay?” She asked playfully. This was all new. She was hardly playful, nor did she feel sexy and desirable with anyone. Until Jaime.

He chuckled. “Rest. You won’t be getting any tonight.”

“Good advice.”

She persuaded him to bring a scarf despite his insistence that the coat was thick enough to ward off the chill. But he listened to her, wounding round his neck a gray scarf she had brought.

Brienne went to the bathroom. She found a packet for aspirin, took a tablet. She cleaned up a little, washing her face then her cunt. In the bedroom, she removed the heavy sweater and jeans, sticking only to a t-shirt and a thick pair of socks.

She was about to climb on the bed when she saw the edge of a photo frame peeking from her bag. Though knowing what it was, she went to pull it out anyway.

While clearing out Selwyn’s things, she went through old photographs. To her delight she found an old one of her dad and Jaime, both looking so much younger—Selwyn’s hair was still blond and significantly thicker. You didn’t know Jaime was blond because of the buzzcut but he was boyishly handsome, grinning happily for the camera. They both wore uniforms etched with the logo of The Golden Stag.

She got an elegant, dark photo frame for it, thinking to give to Jaime on the night they first slept together. But she had stopped herself, not wanting to be presumptuous about any progress in their relationship yet.

And here they were, a month and a few days into. . .an affair? Thing? Jaime’s declaration last night had to mean they were in a relationship, she thought, putting the frame back in her bag and getting on the bed. There was no point in denying her thrill over it, nor in taking longer than she already had to tell him the truth.

But as true as Jaime was in his feelings and commitment to her, she sensed this huge weight on him. It shadowed his beautiful smiles, the shine in his eyes. When he held her, there was something that felt final from him. Had he not encouraged her time and again to ask him?

The problem was she did not know exactly _what_ to ask. But she knew he was never going to hurt her. Never deliberately. In that she could trust him.

She checked her phone next. No email. Nothing from any of the agencies she had applied to. Even her headhunter had not turned up any leads. But there was a voicemail. One.

“I understand why you did what you had to do,” Renly said. “What’s happened to you, Brienne? You’re never vindictive. I still believe we can fix things. Please. I want to see you. I _am_ sorry. I should have been supportive. Should have fought for you—”

She grunted and deleted it. Then blocked his number. Renly was a bigger idiot than she thought if he believed she was going to open her legs for him ever again. She grabbed Jaime’s pillow, sniffing deeply. Magical how his scent uplifted her immediately. She hugged it, keeping her face pressed to it until she fell asleep.

It seemed she had only closed her eyes for a moment and then Jaime was shaking her awake, murmuring her name and plying her with little kisses all over the face. “What is it?” She murmured, turning in his arms just as his lips landed on her mouth. Sleepily, she kissed him back and opened her eyes.

“Are you alright? I thought to let you sleep some more but I figured you wouldn’t want to miss it,” he said, sitting by her hip. He smelled of leaves. She blinked at him, lying on her back still.

“My headache’s gone. What’s going on?”

He turned towards the window. “I came back as soon as soon as it began. You were sleeping so soundly, though so I thought I’d let the snow do its job first before getting you. It’s now another world, wench.”

She looked and squealed. Flinging the blanket away, she ran to the window. The edge of the t-shirt flapped around her hips, drawing a laugh from Jaime.

Fluffy, beautiful snow was _everywhere_. It crowned trees, glowing like little lights on branches. The ground was a thick carpet of white. She opened the window, inviting a crisp gust of icy air in the room that had Jaime crying out. “Wench, you’re gonna freeze!”

“Oh gods. It smells almost as good as you do!” She exclaimed, taking several lungfuls of the fresh, frigid air. There was the faint scent of leaves, earth. The river. Another squeal then she shut the window. “Come on!” She exclaimed, running out of the room.

“Where do you think you’re going with your pussy out?” Jaime yelped, running after her. Brienne giggled, jogging down the stairs and going to the living room to fetch the direwolf blanket. Her socked feet skidded to the sofa as she got the blanket then bundled it around herself. She grinned at him.

“It’s not like anyone else will see. Come on!” Clutching the blanket with one hand, she grabbed him with the other. Jaime staggered after her, yelling that she was only wearing socks and her toes would fall off. She just laughed again, bringing him out with her to the deck. It led to a view of the river.

They took it all in quietly, just holding hands, exchanging glances now and then before their eyes leaped to other points of beauty. Gray should be bleak. Gloomy. She smiled at the sky. Night would be faster than yesterday and then there will only be the cold. The knowledge made her all warm.

Jaime kissed her hand. She let out a breath.

“Thank you for asking me to come with you,” she whispered. She couldn’t stop looking at him. From the moment they’d arrived in Arbor, Jaime was different. Oh, he was still very much the same, but the trip revealed a side of him only hinted at before. She hoped for more of that.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he declared.

She looked in his eyes, reaching to brush a tendril of his golden hair from his forehead. As her hand lowered to his cheek, she answered, “Neither do I.”

“You do know what that means, wench?”

She nodded.

 _“Do you?”_ He sounded like he was pleading.

“I fuck only you,” she said softly. “Please don’t stop fucking me, Jaime.”

He grabbed her, clutching her face, eyes roaming on every pore and freckle. It seemed he not only saw through her, but also what made her the person he held right this very moment. She kissed his palm and together, they rested foreheads on each other. The realization that everything in her life led into his arms nearly felled her.

He never let her fall.

“There will be no end to that, Brienne.” He whispered. He took her hand, turned it palm up to kiss it. Then he pulled her to his chest, holding her fiercely.

******

A direwolf blanket, a boot, some clothes then the boot’s partner trailed up the stairs toward the bedroom. Though the sheets on the bed were rumpled, it was empty.

Instead, on a shag rug by the fire, two bodies moved and writhed.

Jaime was in the sweetest heaven and the hottest hell. His skin gleamed bronze from sweat as he restrained himself from fucking Brienne harder than necessary. Not yet. Not for her first time. On her hands and knees before him, her back slanted to the floor, Brienne gasped and fought to relax.

He caressed the long line of her back while gripping the side of her hip. She was tensed, trembling to fight off her body’s instinctive response against his cock in her ass. Seven above but she was tighter than he’d expected. Stopping his maddening, careful thrusts, he leaned down to kiss her between the shoulders. Lick sweat off her. _Everything_ about the wench was so fucking delicious.

“More. Please, Jaime,” she begged, spreading her legs some more. He groaned as the action sucked his cock deeper inside.

 _“Brienne.”_ He was in sweet agony. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s good.” She gasped. “It’s so good, Jaime.”

He didn’t fucking deserve this. But he was only a man. A weak man greedy for more of her. At her urging, he gradually sped up his thrusts. Skins clapping wetly. Muscle pounding into muscle. Bone grinding into bone. Sweat exploded from every pore of their bodies.

Jaime was on the brink. His lower back was stiff from tension. His cock fucking _hurt._ The more his balls rubbed against Brienne, the tighter they felt. He was fucking ready to blast off but refused to leave her behind. His hand slipped below her body. Toward her cunt.

Brienne’s sexy shriek of surprise when his rubbed her clit nearly had him shooting his load. Her cunt was _pouring._ Gods above. She was a gift.

His fingers pushed between her plump folds to play with her clit. It was perfectly stiff. Brienne was grunting his name as if it was the only word she knew. Faster his cock pumped inside her. Harder he stroked her clit.

Brienne suddenly slammed a fist on the rug and jerked against him. _“Jaime!”_

It was like Seven Heavens had parted. He growled and threw himself into orgasm, clutching tightly at her hip and burying his fingers in her cunt. She wailed and rocked furiously against him, riding his hand, sucking every drop pouring from his cock. Somewhere in his bleary vision, white fluffs flew in the air.

He had to fucking _struggle_ pulling out of her searing heat. Her rosette was a swollen, beautiful pout. He helped her lie down, taking her in his arms to press soothing little kisses all over her sweaty, blotchy face and neck, her nipples. Sleepy blue eyes gazed at him, long pale fingers rubbing the damp hairs of his chest.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he groaned, kissing her firmly on the lips and holding her tightly. “It will be better next time, Brienne. I swear it.”

She shook her head weakly. “No. No, I’m not hurt. Just a little sore but nothing I can’t manage.”

Nevertheless, he kept kissing her on the silly, childish belief that they melted away pain. She had trusted him with all her heart. He was moved in ways that stole his breath, made him weak.

He had never felt so small. So undeserving. Yet also so fucking greedy for her. It was terrifying how much he wanted her. The more he was with Brienne, the clearer he couldn’t be without her.

“How about a bath?” He whispered. “I don’t have salts and creams, but I promise it will be warm.”

“Hmm. It still sounds wonderful.”

As the tub filled with water, he washed his cock at the sink. Then he got a small towel, ran it under the water and returned to Brienne. She sat up, tits swinging though the movement was slight. He squinted a little. The only light in the room came from the fire, so he wasn’t too sure. But her tits really looked rounder.

“I’ll do that,” she said, holding out her hand for the towel. She was blushing again. He shook his head and kissed her on the forehead.

“Don’t be embarrassed, wench.” He said, holding the towel.

“But Jaime—” She shook her head. “The stains.”

“Hush.” He said. He pressed a hand on her shoulder to urge her to lie down on the carpet again. She stretched out but kept looking at him over her shoulder. She was clearly self-conscious. He kissed her on the shoulder then began cleaning her. “Don’t be ashamed of this, wench.”

After wiping her clean, he helped her up to go to the bathroom. Brienne got in the tub first while he took soap from the shelf in the shower. She scooted forward so he could climb in.

“Um. . .Jaime? Shouldn’t this be the other way around?”

“Next time, you get to hold me. For now, I hold you.”

It took some maneuvering. The tub was a bite wide but was designed to fit only people of average height. With them being over six feet tall and broad, the tub seemed child’s size. They laughed trying to fit. In the end, Jaime spread his legs to accommodate Brienne, who had to slouch so she could rest against his chest. He had to bend his legs to make more room for her, but she still had to put her feet up on the edge of the tub.

“Only the shower for us next time, I think,” she chuckled.

“And here I thought we could fuck,” he joked.

She pinched him, grinning when he yelped. “Seven, Jaime. Is that all you can think about?”

“Around you, yeah!” His hand closed around her tits, thumbing her nipples gently. She moaned, sinking heavily against him. “Sensitive, wench?”

“Mmm. No. A little sore. They rubbed on the carpet.”

He kissed her. “Sorry.”

“This is nice,” Brienne said a moment later. “We should take more baths often.”

“With salts,” he agreed. “And those nice bubbles.”

“I can spend the rest of the weekend here. The water feels great.”

“Just this weekend?” He asked playfully. “Why not have the rest of our lives be like this weekend? We can sell the shop. Move here. Live in the tub until the lines on our bodies are permanent and I start losing my hair.”

“Don’t tempt me, Jaime.”

“Don’t I always?” Diving into the fantasy, he continued, “We’ll live off the money from the sale. Sell everything we have so we can move here. Fuck all day. All night. Feed you my creations.” He squeezed her tits. “You’ll eat waffles for breakfast everyday, with bacon. And then chocolate cream pie whenever you want. You will get so round. Your tits, especially. And my cock never leaves you.”

“Such passionate poetry.”

“Your pussy is most inspiring. A never-ending gush of honeyed goodness.”

Water sloshed to the floor as their bodies shook with laughter. He continued playing with her tits, caressing her stomach. She sighed softly, massaging his thigh.

“Wench,” he said, resting his cheek against her chin. “Are you—do you like working in the shop?”

As soon as he asked the question, he wished he hadn’t. By itself it was an innocent inquiry. But he had been wondering for weeks why Brienne didn’t seem interested in going back to advertising. She had the smarts for it, for one. The passion and dedication. For all his struggles in running and keeping the patisserie, he loved everything about it. Perhaps it was this love that made him see things about her.

“It’s different,” she said after a quiet that went a few seconds too long. “There’s a lot to keep me busy and I like that about it.”

“But. . .?” He prodded hesitantly.

“Should there be a but?”

“You’re the hardest worker I know, wench. And your heart is certainly in it. I’m just worried that this is a step down for you. There’s so much you can do, and the shop can be limiting.”

Brienne suddenly sat up. From the stiff set of her shoulders, Jaime saw she was defensive. He brushed his knuckles on her back. “I’m not criticizing, Brienne. I’m just concerned about possibly holding you back. That’s the last thing I want.”

Hating even just the little distance between them, he hauled her none too gently back against his chest, wrapping an arm firmly around her waist. She didn’t resist or try pushing him away. But something in his question had clearly set her off. She wasn’t touching him back. Not melting against him.

“Brienne—”

“Nobody wants me,” she whispered.

“That’s ridiculous. You’re this advertising rainmaker—”

“No one has been calling me, Jaime.”

He frowned, trying to look at her. The limited space of the tub hindered him from that. Confused, he asked, “What do you mean no one has been calling you?”

“Nothing,” she blurted out. “No email. No call. Nothing. And the few times I called some of the agencies where I applied, I was told they weren’t entertaining inquiries from applicants. Gods. I’m not as good as you think, Jaime. I went along with my own shit. Thinking it smelled like roses and now—”

“Wench, wench, wench.” Jaime hopped out of the tub to look at her and grab her by the shoulders. It was crushing to see her eyes red from the tears she struggled from shedding, her thick lips and chin quivering from the effort. The grimace on her face made her uglier. His heart broke even more. “You’re right. You’re not as good, Brienne. You’re fucking better. _Better_ ,” he growled when she started shaking her head. “So you didn’t get any callbacks. Well, that’s their loss. _Their loss._ Who beat my head into renovating The Sapphire Patisserie? Who came up with a more efficient inventory tracking system? Who inspired me to make oathporkers and wenches, Maiden’s Nipples? What about the photographs? Who styled them? Who took them?”

“Jaime, that’s all you because you accepted help—”

“And that’s what makes you better. You pressed me to help. Made me see I needed help. You weren’t around before, wench but these days, people actually come to work excited. I thought Jon didn’t have teeth until you made him laugh the other day. Shae was always looking at me like I was some lower life form and now I can tell she actually respects me. Theon is working his ass off. You’ve brought all these fantastic changes, Brienne. You are better. _So much better_.”

He pulled her out of the tub. She squeaked about getting water on the floor, that they might slip. He didn’t care. He hated seeing her so undeservedly in pain and broken. His cock was quick to stand at attention once he glimpsed her pussy all wet and dripping. But he didn’t fuck her. His arms wrapped around her huge body, wanting to protect her from everything that could hurt her.

“If nobody is calling you, that’s their problem. Not yours, wench. You hear me? I don’t want you going away inside again because you’re disappointed. You don’t deserve disappointment.” He held her tightly, his heart beating fast over his own words. “You don’t. Stop beating yourself up over people who don’t appreciate you.”

She sighed and hugged him back. He kissed her wet shoulder. “How can you see me the way you do?” She asked.

He kissed her. “There’s no other way I can see you, Brienne.”

*******  
Once again, the cabin smelled of warm herbs, spices, meat cooking, pasta. Brienne grated cheese for the lasagna while Jaime oversaw the cooking of the ground beef and the lasagna sheets he had made from scratch. When she finished the cheese, she began chopping up the fresh herbs he had gathered from his brief forest trek.

They assembled the lasagna together, with Jaime directing her. Of course. She laughed as he rained over-the-top compliments with the way she spread the meat, the cheese, or the way she used the spatula. For every step she completed, he kissed her passionately on the mouth or neck. His kisses were a lot more potent than the cabernet sauvignon they sipped from a shared goblet.

After Jaime put the tray of lasagna in the oven to cook, he pulled her to the living room. All it took was a look, heated and longing, for Brienne to know what was going to happen.

Even without the feverish rush of freeing their bodies from clothes, the kisses they shared were still as passionate, perhaps even hungrier the longer they drew out desire. Jaime looked half a god bathed in the firelight, his lean, muscular body elegant yet packed with strength. It was the most natural thing in the world for Brienne to get down on her knees, expressing her adoration by wrapping her lips around his cock.

His groans filled her ears, as well as the wet sound of his foreskin when she rubbed it up and down his shaft. Her kisses were indulgent, hungry slurps, coupled with her eyes raised to his face. Looking for guidance. Gauging his pleasure. She pushed the foreskin toward the base, laving kisses all over the length of him before turning her attention to his balls. She licked one. Mouthed the other. While teasing his cock with her hand, she suckled the balls noisily. _How could he taste so good all the time?_

“Brienne,” Jaime growled, yanking her by the hair when she was about to resume feasting on his cock. He pulled her up, seizing her by the chin to take her mouth in a kiss that sent her staggering. She gasped and held him tightly, dragging one of his hands to play with her tit, pinch her nipple.

By the time he dragged her to the couch to straddle his lap, she couldn’t see straight. All she saw were emerald eyes flecked with gold. The only things she felt his chest hairs abrading her tight nipples, his cock splitting into her cunt. He was a fucking pillar. Huge. Thick. _Hard._ He arched her closer, caught one of her nipples in his mouth. She moaned.

They fucked in that furious, desperate pace that had become the signature of their every union. Her head swam from the scent of winter, soap and the faint trace of sex from his skin. She couldn’t get enough of his mouth, whether it was kissing her or feasting roughly on her nipples.

And as she bounced up and down his cock, he kept a finger in her ass. It burned, tender as she still was from the first thrust of his cock earlier. Yet she felt her cunt pouring. Her face reddened from the clap of their sweaty skins and obscene squelch of her cunt spreading and swallowing his cock.

She came with a shrill squeal. Her release triggered Jaime’s. He cried out, grabbing her hips to still them as he pounded urgently in her. She whimpered, burying her face on his shoulder as their rocking bodies slowed to a sensual dance before stopping. A long, weary sigh left her as he pulled her nipple lazily in his mouth, plumping it with tongue and suckling before freeing it.

In the aftermath, they remained on the couch. Jaime sat up, leaning against the arm. Brienne lay in the cradle between his thighs. His hands kept roaming her body until one settled on her tits, occasionally plucking her fat nipples to drag a moan from her. The other palmed her cunt, a finger deep in her semen-flooded channel.

She was staring at the fire when Jaime spoke up.

“What about putting up your own agency? You can’t do that know because of the shop,” he added, clearing his throat. “But someday, wench?”

“But I’m not a leader,” she answered. There was nothing new to his suggestion—she had fantasized for years but could not imagine it coming to fruition. “I can oversee a team for a specific campaign but to actually go after clients. . .ensure people get their pay on time, HR matters. . .”

His lips warmed her ear. “I’m pretty sure I read about you pursuing this huge jewelry company into advertising.”

Her heart swelled with pride. Flushing, she tried hiding her face on his chest. “I was different back then.”

“Maybe, wench. But you got them to change your minds. _You_ changed my mind.”

Brienne lost herself in his warm, urgent kisses along her neck and cheek before answering. “I don’t know, Jaime. Do you think-do you think it’s something I can do?”

“I wouldn’t be encouraging you if I haven’t seen you in action.” He said.

“But at the shop you’re with me.” She sighed. “It doesn’t all rest on me.”

Her own agency. Could it really happen? She reluctantly left the circle of Jaime’s arms to look at him. “Yeah, I’m with you,” he said. “But you’ve got this leadership down. You are better than you give yourself credit for.”

“I admit it’s something I’ve thought about but. . .it’s terrifying, isn’t it? Have you always wanted your own patisserie?”

He smiled. “As soon as I perfected the chocolate cream pie, wench.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And I saw how hard your dad worked but he was happy. You’ve never seen your dad curse or yell at anyone, wench. But you simply did not cross Selwyn Tarth in the kitchen. Not if you value any part of your body. He was tough. He worked the hardest. He pushed people to do better, to do their best. For that they respected him. When I worked for him again after school, I knew for sure I wanted my own shop. That if I could be half the man he is, it can happen.”

His voice softened and she watched him stare off into space for a moment. She tilted her head, looking at him intently.

As deep as their bond grew over the last weeks, she sensed there was still much Jaime kept from her. She understood why his family was a painful subject. Except for talk centering on Selwyn, he didn’t like talking much of the past. He was not very open about whatever went through his mind, except when it involved her. Or the shop. Or food.

But she could be patient. She was beginning to fall for him, and it was only a matter of time before she was head over heels and more. She touched him on the cheek, the soft touch coaxing his attention back to her. Jaime believed in her. She would never doubt that. But was he as passionate believing in himself?

“You should teach me some more being on my own two feet in business,” she said, smiling a little to lessen the seriousness of the conversation. “I’m not as brave as you.”

“I have to disagree. You were all in with helping the shop despite never having been in the food business before.”

“Numbers are the same language whatever the industry.” She put her head on his chest, hugged him around the waist. He hugged her back. “I love working with you. But it’s really advertising I want more.”

“Then pursue your passion, wench. I’m never leaving your side.” He assured her. “Still, while you don’t have a job yet, I hope you’ll stay on with the patisserie. Working with you has. . .ah, very special perks.”

She laughed. “I should get you a fleshlight.”

“Fuck you. I want _you_ ,” he growled playfully, hugging her tighter. She nuzzled his chest, kissing the wide expanse of it before pushing herself up. He continued to hold her around the waist.

“You’re all I want to fuck, Brienne,” he murmured, running a finger between her tits before shifting his gaze back to her face. “Maybe you should work with me on a permanent basis. I’ll pay you double. Triple. And a bonus when you let me fuck you in the alley. And you get extra vacation time every time you blow me—”

“You know, once in a while I would like to be complimented for my work,” she pretended to complain, taking his face in her hands and kissing him on the mouth.

“You give amazing hand jobs? And the way you suck my cock—”

She slapped him on chest, and he grinned, yanking her down for another kiss. As they playfully tussled and kissed hungrily, the food timer rang. She laughed as he swore and glared in the direction of the oven.

He kissed her quickly. “Stay here. Stay naked.”

“I don’t think so!” She exclaimed but Jaime was already jogging to the kitchen, side-stepping the pile of clothes on the rug. As she pawed for her sweater, she called out, “Jaime, if you burn your cock off don’t blame me.”

Dinner was a picnic on the carpet. Lasagna was eaten right off the tray and they had two bottles of wine. Smiles never left their faces through the meal. Watching Jaime over the rim of her goblet, Brienne was warm from stirrings of desire and fondness for him. There was still so much to know about him, but he never failed to show that he was the person who would never leave her side.

She waited for the little voice in her head. Cautioning her. Warning her.

Nothing.

Catching her look, Jaime’s eyes softened. He held out a forkful of lasagna to her. “Tell me what you’re thinking, wench.”

She blushed and let him feed her. He watched her chew.

“Come on,” he urged her.

She dug into the lasagna and held out a forkful to him. As he guided her hand to his mouth, she deliberately smeared sauce on his chin. He laughed as he chewed. She crawled to him, their eyes lost in the warmth of each other’s stare before her tongue flicked out to lick him. He turned to capture her kiss then took her in his arms.

“I think,” she whispered, “I’m not going to fit in my pants after this weekend because of how great you’ve been feeding me.”

“You know the solution to that,” he whispered back.

“Running?” She pretended to not know.

He shook his head.

“Yoga?”

“No.”

“No more carbs?”

He put a hand on his heart, a pained expression on his face. “Don’t break my heart.”

She lowered her head, removing his hand to kiss him right on the heart. He sighed and embraced her, pressing a swift kiss on her forehead. Feeling content, she sank against him, loving the warmth and protection of being in his arms.

“I won’t break your heart, Jaime.”

After a moment, he said, “I’ll take care of yours, wench.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wench, I’m serious. It’s shitty taking more money from you. I appreciate it but you can’t always be my knight in shining armor.” He traced the curve of her lip with his finger. “Or rather, my wench.”   
> “At the moment, the apartment is the only other option we have to ensure we will make the payments on time. So, I’m not exactly your knight. What will save us is a nine-hundred-square-foot, two-bedroom apartment with a kitchen and toilet and bath in the art district of Kingsland.”   
> “You’re my hero. In more ways than one.”

The wine-filled, fuck-each-other’s-brains-out weekend would have exhausted anyone except for Jaime and Brienne. They were at work early come Monday, with Jaime inspecting the deliveries before signing for them, meeting with Jon to assess the performance of employees before supervising the assembly line production of the pastries. Brienne camped at the office to examine bills, sign checks and track the social media presence of the shop. She was also scouring online for a website designer who could do great work under a tight-ish deadline but at a reasonable rate.

Jaime was checking the consistency of a mixture, instructing on how to make it a bit finer when he saw Brienne leave the office out of the corner of his eye. He saw her walking toward him, so he quickly finished the quick lesson to give her his full attention.

“Hey,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. Secret affairs were exciting, he supposed. But they were not for him. He enjoyed being able to kiss a lover out in the open. And when given the opportunity to make it explicitly clear he was fucking her, he took it. Brienne gave him a little smile in return, but he read the worry in her eyes. In her hand she held an envelope.

“Do you have a moment? I need to talk to you about something.”

“Of course.” He said.

They put on coats then headed out into the alley. Jaime looked at the envelope she held. “What’s that?”

“It’s the bank statement.” She gave it to him. He broke out in a cold sweat, looking at her before taking out the paper. His eyes quickly landed on the figure on the page.

“We still have three weeks before the next payment. We have the money but with the cost of the meat from Arbor as well as our having to take on additional employees, we’ll have to do some belt-tightening to pay.” Crossing her arms, she asked, “Have you thought about my proposal?”

Jaime sighed and gave her the statement. He was hoping she had forgotten about it. “Renting out Selwyn’s apartment?”

“We can really use the additional money. And I want to use it for the shop.”

“It just feels wrong, wench. That’s your personal property. What profit you gain from it should only be yours.”

“Yeah, and mine to do however I want.”

“I honestly don’t know,” he admitted. It wasn’t pride that made him hesitant, but shame. She had been saving him from day one and what had he done for her in return? Plus, he hadn’t told her yet about some of the deals he’d made.

He could have told her everything during the weekend. She had every right to be angry but at least she finally knew. But the price of trusting her was too high.

“I’ve put most of his things in storage anyway, and his personal items are already with me. It’s ready for occupancy. It’s good space, great location. I can get a good price for it. We’ll just have to move fast.” She gave him the rate she was thinking about. Jaime had to agree that it was very reasonable. Steep but factoring in the size of the apartment and the location, reasonable. It was clearly a price for someone who had money to burn. “With the extra money we shouldn’t have trouble meeting the deadline of the debt.”

“If I agree to this,” he said slowly, “how long will you be renting out the place? And how long will the money go to funding the shop?”

“For as long as it’s needed. There’s still a lot we have to do. It would be nice to have an official website, for one. And expand our services. Remember I told you about upgraded cakes? I really want us to look into that. We can create a niche.” She gestured at their surroundings. “Maybe a year or two from now we can expand the space, so we actually have a room for meetings like this.”

“It doesn’t feel right. _I_ don’t feel right about it,” Jaime told her honestly. Brienne looked like she about to protest so he continued quickly, “There’s no doubt you’re all in with securing the future of the patisserie. I support and appreciate that. But don’t you think you’re doing too much already?”

“No.”

“Wench.”

“No, _I don’t_ ,” she insisted, chin quivering from her conviction. “I know this started out as ensuring my dad’s legacy but I do care about the shop, Jaime. I’ve done way too much to suddenly stop and just let things be. And I’m telling you, we’re rolling in money now but next week? Two weeks from now? A month? We don’t know what can happen.” She took his hand. “Please. Let me do this.”

He sighed, looking away. She dropped her head on his shoulder, nuzzling him. Her hair tickled, pulling a soft chuckle from him. “I can’t believe you, wench.”

She kissed him, sucked the tip of his earlobe between his teeth. He groaned and held her fast. “So fucking unfair. You know my ears are one of my weaknesses.”

“If you’ll say yes I’ll let you fuck me here. Now. Or I’ll suck you,” she whispered, rubbing her lips on his cheek before kissing him. He kissed her back.

“You don’t need to promise me anything,” he said, enjoying very much her ardent little kisses and how her hands here ruffling his hair. Their lips met again. How can he resist plumbing the depths of her warm, cavernous mouth?

“I thought I’d throw in some incentives,” she whispered. “Jaime, I won’t do anything regarding the shop without your okay. We’re partners.”

 _Partners_. He pulled away from their kiss but continued holding her. Vivid sapphire eyes blinked back at him. “And. . .it’s shitty but if I can convince you to see my side deploying um, you know, parts about me you like, why not?”

“You mean your pussy and tits?”

She blushed.

“It’s not manipulation when you know exactly what I’m doing and why,” she explained. Her cheeks burned brighter.

“Wench, you have no idea how to manipulate anyone and I’m fucking glad about that. You’re too honest. Which is one of the many things that make you so fuckable to me,” he said, smiling. Despite his relaxed and easy manner, his stomach was in knots. Brienne looked at him hopefully, her lower lip quivering slightly. Leaning his forehead on hers, he closed his eyes to escape her searching, guileless gaze for a moment.

“If I allow this, you have the right to terminate the arrangement anytime.”

“Yeah.”

“Wench, I’m serious. It’s shitty taking more money from you. I appreciate it but you can’t always be my knight in shining armor.” He traced the curve of her lip with his finger. “Or rather, my wench.”

“At the moment, the apartment is the only other option we have to ensure we will make the payments on time. So, I’m not exactly your _knight._ What will save us is a nine-hundred-square-foot, two-bedroom apartment with a kitchen and toilet and bath in the art district of Kingsland.”

“You’re my hero. In more ways than one.”

********  
With winter officially begun, The Sapphire Patisserie saw a significant increase in foot traffic. People wanted more coffee and sugar. There was no moment when anyone was idle. Shae often had to adjust the heat as people shivering from the snow basically threw themselves in the shop. Theon had to keep shoveling snow nearly every hour, if he wasn’t running back and forth to the kitchen. Jaime and Jon had the staff doubling on the pastries, with Brienne even stepping in to help frost the cupcakes in between cashiering, mopping the floor, customer assistance and office duties.

On top of the increased work activity, her period was heavier. Brienne was used to migraines that came with it but this time she also had to deal with cramps and a persistent ache in her back and legs. Her tits fucking hurt too.

“Here,” Jaime announced, sliding into the office one day, a plate in his hand. Brienne turned away from the laptop as he placed it beside her. She sniffed. Grilled cheese sandwich.

“You made this for me?” She asked, giving him a weary smile. He kissed her on the forehead. “That’s so sweet. Thanks.”

“Who else? A grilled cheese sandwich makes everything better,” he said, rubbing her shoulders. She sighed, leaning into his touch. He carried that wonderful pastry scent too. She picked up the sandwich and took a big bite.

“Just when you think all bills are settled, here come the suppliers,” she murmured, sneaking a glance at the laptop. “I never thought flour and sugar could cost so much until I started working here.”

“Brace yourself for prices hitting the roof once the holidays begin,” Jaime told her, kneading her shoulder even more. She moaned in approval. “People are already asking if we have a holiday menu.”

“What do you usually do?”

“Nothing.”

“There’s an opportunity right there.”

Someone knocked on the door. It was Ramsay. A young man with strangely translucent skin, very pale gray eyes that seemed to blend into the sclera, and thick, black hair, he had ghostly appearance. Jaime confessed to being creeped out slightly by him, but he had good references—the young man was good with carving and butchering, apparently, and now wanted to foray into pastries.

“Sorry, but there’s someone looking for both of you,” Ramsay said. “Um. . .a woman?”

Brienne felt Jaime stop breathing. “A woman?”

“Yeah.” Ramsay suddenly grinned. Even Brienne was taken aback. He looked quite vampiric. “She’s really pretty, if you don’t mind my saying so. Says she’s a friend of yours. Ellaria?”

“Oh.” Jaime let out a breath. “Both of us, you say?”

“Yeah. Should I send her in?”

“No, we’ll meet her out front,” Jaime said. “Thanks.”

The door closed behind him. Brienne took another bite of the sandwich, growling in pleasure. As she chewed, she lowered her voice and pointed with her thumb at the doorway Ramsay had just vacated. “Are you sure he’s not. . .I don’t know, some mythical, scary creature of old?”

“You felt it too? But everyone he’s worked with says he’s great. And scarily good with the knife.”

“He doesn’t do much cutting here, if you noticed.”

“He doesn’t want to cut up meat anymore. Says he’s a vegetarian now.”

“We have oathporkers.”

“That he can manage but he’d much rather do dough duty. I know he seems off but he’s taking classes in cake decorating at the livelihood center in his district. So he’s a little weird.” Jaime said, shrugging.

They were holding hands when they met Ellaria at the front of the store. It was bustling with activity. Ellaria, with a tray full of oathporkers, wenches and Maiden’s Nipples, beamed upon seeing them.

“Hey, you two,” she greeted them.

“Hi,” Jaime said, kissing her on the cheek. “Thanks for the cabin again. It was great. Can I help you with that?”

“I’m glad! And no, I’m still deciding if I should get chocolate croissants,” Ellaria told him. She grinned at Brienne. “Feel free to use it again. You look amazing. You must fuck her very well, Jaime.”

“Ellaria!” Brienne protested, making her laugh. Jaime cleared his throat.

“No use denying it. I can see it. You have that flushed, I-just-came-from-cock skin. I’m jealous. So, I know I should have called first, but I figured being we’re friends and all, I can do the rude, entitled thing and just drop in unannounced.”

“Hardly rude and entitled except for the comment about my sex life,” Brienne said drily. “What’s up?”

Ellaria put her tray down, her dark eyes twinkling. “Okay, so you know how Oberyn and I have been engaged for a while now but we’ve never really made a formal announcement? Well. . .this time we are. With a party and everything. We’re wondering if you could prepare a special cake for us.”

“That’s great, Ellaria!” Brienne exclaimed, hugging her. “When’s the announcement?”

“It’s next weekend. Not much time to prepare something, I’m afraid,” she said apologetically, hugging her back. “I mean, we’re really excited about this.”

“Hey, sometimes you gotta hurry love,” Jaime said, running his fingers through his hair. “And we’d be glad to do prepare something special. Do you have a theme in mind?”

“Oh, yeah. See, I don’t know if Brienne told you this, but Oberyn and I, besides being very open about sex, well, we have certain proclivities.”

Brienne glanced at Jaime. “Err. . .I haven’t told him anything, Ellaria.”

“Ugh, you have got to get that stick out of your ass sometimes, Brienne!” Ellaria complained. She put a hand on Jaime’s arm. Jaime was grinning at her, much to Brienne’s annoyance. “So, to our. . .hmm. . . _kinks_.”

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Jaime teased Brienne. Turning to Ellaria, he said, “Give me all the dirty details.”

“I love him,” Ellaria declared, clapping her hands. “Can I just say how thankful I am you’re fucking my best friend?”

“Oh, Gods. Ellaria, it would be more merciful if you just kill me!” Brienne groaned. “I’m so sorry, Jaime.”

He laughed. “I’m not. And yeah, I’m thankful, Ellaria. I love fucking her.”

_“Jaime!”_

“If you’re into toys, Oberyn and I get a great discount at—”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “Can we get back to the matter of the theme and your cake, _please?_ ”

“Spoilsport,” Ellaria scolded her before winking at Jaime. “Promise me you’re fucking her tonight.”

Jaime smirked suggestively, making her squeal in delight. Clapping her hands again, Ellaria continued, “Alright. Since Brienne here is all business, then I’ll be all business. The theme of our engagement party is ‘Kinky Dornish.’ By the way, there’s a dress code.”

“Kinky Dornish?” Brienne echoed, feeling a sense of dread with what Ellaria was going to say next.

“Yeah. You know how among the old Seven Kingdoms, Dorne is the only one pretty open about sexuality and sexual practices. And that’s what Oberyn and I want to celebrate. Oh yeah, and not forgetting we’re Dornish too. So, we’re thinking swaths of gauzy fabric. Sensual. Tasteful. An elegant bacchanalian celebration of sex.”

“Are we going to see an orgy too?” Brienne asked woodenly.

“Oh, please. That we’re not into. It’s overrated,” Ellaria said, making a face. “All those arms and legs. And every hole just looks the same after a while.”

Jaime flushed. He was _pink._ Brienne didn’t have to do any hard math. He knew what Ellaria was talking about. Feeling herself burning from forehead down to her very toes, she scrambled for something to say, “So, ah. Kinky Dornish?”

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be tasteful and elegant but we thought maybe the cake can kind of like, push the boundaries. We already have a caterer doing a Dornish menu but we want the cake to be special.”

“Kinky Dornish,” Jaime said out loud.

“Do you need some visuals? I have photos of me and Oberyn in my phone?”

“No!” Brienne cried out while Jaime chuckled. Ellaria sighed loudly. “Jaime, you’re not fucking her right. She’s still way too uptight!”

“Oh, I like her just the way she is,” he drawled, hugging Brienne around the waist. “Trust me, she’s a lot dirtier than—”

_“Jaime.”_

“—than a restaurant kitchen that would get shut down by health inspectors,” he finished.

Ellaria frowned. “Huh?”

“Um, how much is your budget?” He asked.

“Oh, just bill me. I know you’ll do something great but you won’t, like, charge me an arm and a leg.” Ellaria said. “I can put in a deposit but can you. . .” she glanced at Brienne. “I mean, if you have a design in mind in a few days?”

“No problem,” Jaime assured her. “I’ll be happy to share with you my ideas. And you’ve given me a clear direction as to where to take the design.”

“Are you sure, Jaime?” Brienne asked. “I mean, not that I don’t think you can do it—”

“It’s alright,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. He grinned. “Really. It will be fun.”

*******

“Any Kinky Dornish cake ideas yet?” Brienne called out from the bathroom that night.

Jaime scrolled through the tablet. He had been looking up visuals from the moment they got home, and also did a quick research on Dornish food. Ellaria had been right about the Dornish—they practically worshipped sex. Fun fact as well—the Dornish had the highest usage of lubricants and handcuffs in Westeros.

“Still coming along,” he replied, cocking an eyebrow at suggestive, classical painting of an olive-skinned woman wearing a gauzy swath of peach fabric. The artist had lovingly detailed the full curve of her tits and dark nipples. It was sexy as hell, but it had nothing on blotchy skin, freckled tits and plump nipples.

Jaime put his chef’s uniform in the dryer then picked up the tablet. Scrolling photos of cakes again, he went to the bedroom. Brienne was already there, shrugging off the bathrobe. He paused to admire her body. Every time he saw it, he was still rendered speechless. He loved how she was firm where she was supposed to be soft, and tender where she should be tough. He sat at the foot of the bed, enjoying the show she was inadvertently putting for him.

He tilted his head as she bent to pull on one of his old boxer shorts. They were a little baggy on him but hugged her right at the hips. Who knew an ass could look so fucking smackable in faded green plaid? “Is Ellaria really like that? Or she just likes teasing you?”

“Oh, that’s just the tip of the iceberg.” Brienne said, chuckling. She was also blushing. He smiled when she faced him to drag a t-shirt down her tits. His hands were sweating as he glimpsed her nipples. They were tight and called for his touch, his mouth. She sat beside him, putting on socks next. “But they’re not like that with everyone. Just close friends. She likes you.”

“She seems. . .well, interesting,” he said, flushing. There was no question that Ellaria was sexually adventurous and if not for Brienne, he would give her a go. But the idea of having someone else after Brienne was no longer as thrilling as he knew it could be.

He enjoyed sex but loved fucking Brienne. That was the difference. She was unlike any woman he’d known—taller, stronger, plain, breathtaking eyes and a personality that exasperated and fascinated him at the same time. It was safe to say he was fucking addicted to the mess of fucking her. He slobbered all over her rather than kissed her, and what she lacked in technique with blowing him she made up for enthusiasm and the brutal suction force of her mouth.

That was fucking. And in other aspects of her, he was just. . .well, he was a mush, truth be told. Even just watching her pull socks on to cover her size twelve feet.

Brienne, clearly noticing his blush, arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you actually thinking of fucking Ellaria?”

“Of course not,” he said defensively.

“Huh.”

“Why would I think of fucking anyone else when there’s you?” He pointed out.

“Uh-huh. Show me the cakes,” she said, rolling her eyes. He sighed and kissed her roughly on the mouth. She tried to laugh but his tongue quickly pushed deep inside. The tablet fell with a muffled plop on the carpet as he seized her face with both hands, tongue-fucking her mouth.

She sucked his tongue, met him thrust for thrust before turning her head away, giggling. He sucked at the tip of her earlobe. “I think you’ve proven yourself,” she whispered.

“Good,” he murmured, nipping her tenderly on the lower lip.

“If I tell you I’m thinking about fucking Ellaria, do I have to kiss like that too?” She asked innocently as he bent to pick up the tablet. He grinned.

“Never apologize for that, wench.”

“Double standards.”

“Uh-huh.” Jaime turned back to the tablet while Brienne put her chin on his shoulder. “How did she and Oberyn meet, by the way?”

“I introduced them. Oberyn was a photographer for a campaign I worked at. Everyone was obsessed with him. The models. The crew. Even the dog in the shoot.”

He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. “And you?”

“Did I have a crush on Oberyn? Well, I thought he was hot. But he was never my type. But he was one of the few people in the industry who was nice to me. Like, genuinely nice. He looked me in the eye when talking to me. Didn’t give me shit for my height and looks.”

“He never asked you out?” He asked suspiciously.

Brienne gave him a look. “No. Of course not. Why would he?”

“Why not?”

He smiled as she turned pink. “I was never interested in Oberyn, Jaime. He was someone I worked with who respected me. I saw he was a good guy and thought, why not introduce him to another good person? Ellaria just broke up with someone and I thought. . .you know. She could use, um, an outlet.”

“A fuck buddy?”

Brienne squirmed, blushing. “I kind of prostituted Oberyn, didn’t I?”

“Well, they’re engaged now. I don’t think either of them will be offended.” He paused before a photo and called her attention to it. “What do you think?”

“Hmm,” she murmured, squinting at it.

“I’m thinking I have to step out of Dorne a bit. Focus on passion and sensuality rather than sex. Also peach-colored pastries don’t look appetizing under any light.”

“It looks great, but can I be honest?”

“Always.”

“You’re right to focus on passion and sensuality but Ellaria and Oberyn are. . .well, they’re not subtle. Actually,” she added with a laugh, “they thrive on embarrassing people with how open they are. What I’m saying is, maybe you could try being a little more overt when you decide on a design?”

“Won’t that be tacky?”

“Not in your hands.”

He looked at her. “You really meant that.”

“Of course. It’s not like I’ve never seen your work.” Brienne kissed him on the tip of the nose. He grinned and pulled her to his chest. She suddenly squawked.

“What is it?”

She was wincing while pulling away. “My tits really hurt.”

“Poor wench,” he whispered, pressing his lips gently on her nipples through the t-shirt. “Can I get you anything?”

“There’s really no fix-it for aching tits during that time of the month. But thanks.” She returned her chin on his shoulder as he continued scrolling. “Oh, that’s nice.”

He considered it then moved on. “It’s boring. I want a challenge.”

“Oh, and coming up with a classy cake that’s faithful to the Kinky Dornish theme isn’t challenging enough?”

“Please.”

But for all his bravado, he wasn’t too sure. Brienne heard it. She gave him another kiss. “Jaime? I’m proud of you everyday.”

He caressed her knee. _Tell her. Tell her now._

“I know you’ve had some setbacks but you never give up. And you’re really amazing as a chef, and in so many ways. You’re a good man,” she said, brushing a lock of his hair from his eyes. “I know that’s one reason why I don’t want to stop fucking you.”

“You have many reasons?” He teased, trying to distract her, and himself. He rubbed the tightness on his chest.

“It’s a growing list. Hey, I have an idea. Not about the cake, unfortunately.”

“Tell me.”

“We haven’t really celebrated the re-opening of the shop. Paying two months of the bank debt. Your cake commission. How do you feel about dinner tomorrow night?”

Jaime pretended to think it over. “I’m not sure if I can make it work. My girlfriend likes me between her legs by eight p.m.”

“Oh. You have that kind of schedule.”

“She hates it when I’m late. I think if she can have her way, she’ll have me fucking her round-the-clock.”

“Sounds like a _hard_ job.”

“Oh, it can be. She can go on and on through the night, if you know what I mean. Always wet. Can never get enough cock. So I don’t know if I can be free.”

“What if I can get her to throw in a blow job in the taxi after dinner? Or more alley sex? Something tells me you like to fuck dangerously.”

“The only danger I face is her tight pussy breaking my cock.”

“Jaime, I didn’t need to know that!” She squeaked, burying her face in his chest as he laughed.

He hugged her. “Wench, do you expect me to put out just because you’re buying me dinner?”

“I’m buying you dinner?”

“Well, yeah. You’re the money here.”

“Hmm. Well, yeah, since I’m buying you dinner and dessert, I do hope you’d put out,” she joked. “What’s the point of plying you with wine and an expensive meal?”

“Oh,” he drawled. “So it will be an expensive meal.”

“There’s much to celebrate. And I wish to increase my chances of riding your cock.”

He chuckled and kissed her. “I love it when you talk dirty.”

“What do you say to dinner? And do you trust me to choose the restaurant?”

He pretended to sigh. “I don’t know why you need my opinion, wench. Clearly all you expect from me is to drop my trousers and fuck you.”

Brienne burst out laughing.

The anticipated dinner carried him through another long, tiring day at work. Yet Jaime was still energized at the end of his shift. He got in the shower and spent ample time getting ready for the night out with Brienne. He didn’t have time to get a new suit but at least he had a couple of ready. He picked a black suit, a crisp white shirt with faint gray and cream stripes, and a silk tie that was an exact match to his eyes.

Brienne had insisted on picking him up. He was all smiles when she arrived at his apartment. The wench didn’t just look edible. She looked like a fucking _feast_.

Her dress was royal blue in velvet, with a high neckline, capped sleeves and a slim, fitted skirt that ended at the knee. Conservative at first glance until she turned, revealing the long, thigh-high slit on the side then the plunging back of the dress. He complained loudly about the torture she was inflicting on him when she quickly pulled her coat back on and yanked him out of the apartment.

“Where are we going?” he demanded as they entered the cab.

“Oh, you’ll see. I did my research. Since you’re all about farm-to-fork, I had a bitch of time looking for a restaurant along those lines that was still elegant. I just _know_ you’ll love what I chose,” she declared.

For a good part of the drive, Jaime was distracted by their conversation and the glimmer in Brienne’s eyes. It wasn’t until the cab was pulling up in front of the restaurant that Jaime realized it was too late to do anything. Still, he was hoping it was a mistake.

“Uh, wench, is this where we’re having dinner?” He asked as she paid the driver.

“Yes. I’ve been here a few times. I read in the paper that their menu has improved, and their chocolate cream pie is just to die for.” Brienne said as they got out. She stood beside him, her hand around his elbow. Seeing him staring at the gold letter of the restaurant’s name, she pulled him slightly. “Come on. Aren’t you hungry?”

“I don’t know,” he answered.

“You’re funny. Jaime, I promise, this is a good restaurant. I won’t feed you anything shitty,” she said with a laugh.

He had no choice. It was too late. He could only let himself be pulled inside. Every moment leading to the time he was finally inside the premises of the restaurant was surreal in the worst way. As they waited to be led to their table, he tried again.

“Brienne, I think this restaurant is overrated—” he whispered.

“Good evening,” a familiar voice said. “Welcome to The Golden Rose. Do you have a reservation?”

Wishing all of Seven Hells to befall on him right this very moment, Jaime turned around and looked right at Margaery Tyrell.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fuck you, Jaime. Fuck you so much. I don’t care how ugly some parts of you are. What matters to me is your trust. That you care for me enough. To trust me to know about the parts of yourself you hate. If your reason for telling me these affairs is to test me, you’re a fucking asshole.”

Margaery’s shock vanished as soon as it appeared. Her composure regained, she plastered a pleasant but tight smile while resolutely turning away from Jaime to stare up at Brienne. She narrowed her eyes briefly before schooling her face into a professional, friendly expression. Jaime frowned. He was ready to give her hell if she so much as gave Brienne a snide look. She could treat him like the asshole he was but over his dead body he’d let anyone treat Brienne like shit.

He wove his fingers through Brienne’s and she gasped.

“You hand is so cold,” she said, taking it between both her hands and kissing it, palm up. Margaery continued to look at them expectantly. She stared at a vacant space between him and Brienne before clearing her throat. Blushing, Brienne turned to her. “I’m sorry. It’s under Brienne Tarth.”

“Brienne Tarth,” Margaery echoed, scanning the notebook with a slim finger, manicured nail moving down the page. “Ah. Yes. Party of two. May I take your coats first?”

She went around to help Brienne but only held out her hand for Jaime’s. She hung them in a secreted rack and gave Brienne the number. The tight smile back, she swept a hand towards the restaurant. “If you’ll follow me, please.”

“You should have worn gloves,” Brienne told Jaime as they followed Margaery.

“Are you sure about this restaurant, wench?” He murmured. “The Golden Rose isn’t that golden anymore, if you know what I mean.”

“I just read an article that they have a new chef. So they have a new menu but also kept favorites. Plus the desserts are to die for. Especially the chocolate cream pie.” She winked at him. “I thought you’d be the best judge of that.”

The Golden Rose was one of the exclusive and priciest restaurants in all of Kingsland in its fifteen-year-history. The tablecloths were silk and blinding in their whiteness. The chairs forest green velvet bordered by gold brass frame. A huge, antique crystal chandelier gave the room a soft, pale gold glimmer. Jaime, glad to be holding Brienne’s hand and for the distraction of freckles on her bare back, barely noticed these. He almost forgot about Margaery too until she was standing by their table.

“A server will be with you shortly. Have a lovely dinner,” she told Brienne. As soon as she turned to Jaime, her smile dropped, pointedly ignoring him as she walked away.

 _All the better._ He was thankful she wasn’t serving the food. Much as he’d like to think she was above spitting in his soup, he wasn’t too sure. He let out a breath and focused on Brienne instead. She was reading the leather-bound menu.

“Oh, they made some changes. That’s expected, of course. But they still have some of the old dishes. Look, they have quail.” As she continued scanning the menu, she asked, “Have you been here before?”

Jaime looked around. Women with elegantly coiffed hairstyles and gleaming jewelry. Men with tailored suits that probably cost more than his month’s pay. He liked food that was a testament to the chef’s artistry and skill but didn’t believe people should break the bank to taste them.

“Once or twice,” he answered vaguely, moving his seat closer to her. Her clean, fresh scent washed over him. Except for minimal make-up, Brienne kept her look simple. Hair brushed back, a nude lip color. No jewelry—not even stud earrings. Just the blue of her dress that emphasized the brilliance of her eyes. He couldn’t resist brushing his knuckles on her bare back. “I’ve eaten in some places like this, but I know their kitchens better. I’m more of a diner guy.”

She grinned at him over the menu. “Yeah, but the kind that serves meat from animals allowed to roam freely in the field.”

“You know me so well.” Yet the words rang hollow in his ears. He was glad his back was to Margaery’s table. He can forget her. Almost. After a few moments, he asked, “See anything you like, wench?”

“Everything looks delicious. How about if I let you order? You know more or less how these things might taste. I have no food allergy and not picky.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Her eyes sparkled brighter than the chandeliers above them. “Have fun ordering. I’ll love whatever it is.”

It didn’t take long for Jaime to decide what to order. A server materialized at his side, greeting them first before asking if they would like to hear tonight’s specials.

“Thanks, but we already know what we want, if that’s alright,” Jaime told him. As he spoke, another restaurant staff appeared, this time filling their glasses with water.

“Of course, sir. What are we having?”

“We’d like to start with the bacon and chile figs and the roast oysters. For the entrée, the lady will have the char-grilled quail with prosciutto and peaches. For myself, the crusted pork with sautéed brussels sprouts.”

“A most excellent order,” the server complimented him. “May I suggest your wine?”

“By all means.”

Pleased to contribute, the server suggested a Jade Sea Malbec, of a vintage that made Jaime’s eyes widen a bit in excitement. He nodded. “Sounds perfect. We’ll have that, then.”

“What about dessert? We have a wonderful chocolate cream pie if the lady would like one. They tend to sell out quite quickly too.”

Jaime squirmed, looking at the menu for an alternate dessert. But Brienne beat him to the punch. “I’ve been hearing so much about it. Yes, we’d love to try it.”

“Surely, there are other desserts?” He asked, trying not to sound desperate.

The server rattled off a long list. Jaime watched Brienne, watching her eyes kind of glaze over listening to the descriptions of the mouthwatering sugar treats. But she still insisted on the chocolate cream pie.

“Very good, madame.” The server repeated their order, asked if he could provide them with anything else. Jaime quickly dismissed him.

“We’ve never really gone out before,” he told Brienne once they were alone. He reached for her hand, once again pushing his fingers between the little arcs. “My apologies, wench.”

“Why? We already went on a trip together,” she assured him. “And you’ve cooked for me.”

“Yeah. But you deserve a night out.”

“Jaime, that’s very sweet of you. But I’m not really big on going out except if there’s a movie I can’t wait to see or it’s a meal with someone I’m really fond of. I’d much rather be in pajamas eating pizza any day of the week.”

“Your long legs need to be stretched in other places besides the bedroom, wench.” He couldn’t help but smirk. “Although it never fails to impress me that you can put them up to your ears.”

“Jaime, hush!” She hissed, blushing profusely. His smile widened at her scowl. She looked around. “I can’t believe you.?”

“You should be proud. Renders me speechless every time.” He pulled her hand up to kiss it. As his lips fell on her palm, Margaery walked past their table with new patrons. He gripped her hand, kissing it over and over to avoid the other woman’s scornful gaze. It seemed to work, until she suddenly stopped at their table.

“Have you made your orders?” She addressed Brienne.

“Yes. My boyfriend did most of it. He knows a lot more about good food.”

“Boyfriend. Really.” Margaery arched an eyebrow at Jaime. “How nice for you that he makes the effort. Not all women can get so lucky.” And with that, she left their table.

Brienne didn’t appear to be bothered by the remark, but Jaime felt every barb. He continued holding her hand. It was his lifeline.

“I can’t wait to taste everything, but especially the dessert,” she told him. “I’m going to be a bigger blimp than I already am after this meal.”

“Not all over, wench. Just where it counts.” She blushed again as he leered openly at her tits. They were still small but rounder by feel now. Her stomach was still flat, and her hips and thighs remained firm. But she was definitely growing a bust.

“Typical male. You wouldn’t be happy if it’s my ass.”

“Nope, I wouldn’t mind that either. More to pinch. And a lot more fun to smack.”

Throughout the meal, they laughed and spoke softly to each other. There were kisses too, although the little pecks and gentle presses of lips quickly became open-mouthed with lots of tongue, courtesy of Jaime. He loved making her blush with filthy compliments.

He smirked watching her eat off a fork loaded with generous slivers of quail and peaches. She was clearly enjoying her food. “Will you be devouring my cock like that, wench?”

She turned beet-red and almost choked on her food. She scowled at him. _“Jaime.”_

He shrugged innocently. “It’s just a question. You have a mouth that rivals industrial-strength vacuum cleaner.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

Having way too much fun riling her up, he dropped his voice and asked the next question. “Are you wearing panties?”

“Are you?” She grunted, her eyes flashing.

He grinned. “Ah, I asked first. Ladies first.”

“Of course I’m wearing underwear. You should know by now I only skip them when staying home. Or when you ask me to.”

“Well, now I’m asking you to give them to me.”

She shook her head, her eyes big. “Oh no. We’re not fucking here. You can fuck me on the roadside or in an alley anytime. _Jaime!_ ” She slapped his hand attempting to slide under her skirt. “This is a nice place. I don’t want to be banned from here.”

“They should have nice bathrooms,” he remarked, sliding a finger up and down her arm instead. He leaned in, sniffing her behind the ear. Seven hells. She smelled fresh and spring-like.

_“No.”_

He let out a long, pained sigh. “Alright, wench. I won’t fuck you here. But I want your panties. Are you wet?”

It was so sexy how red she was. And how she couldn’t look at him in the eye. She made the mistake of sipping wine rather than water. As her blush deepened, she stammered, “You-you do know it’s winter, Jaime. My pussy will be colder than Winterfell if I give you my underwear now.”

“My cock will keep you warm. What do you say? I just want a whiff, that’s all. I’m not fond of perfumes except your natural scent. And my favorite is the one from between your legs.” He smiled engagingly, pleased when she finally gave him her eyes. He gently kissed her on the lips. “Please, wench?”

“I should tell you no,” she muttered, sending him a helpless but bright-eyed gaze. “Bu you’ve made me incapable of that, I think.”

“Let’s see. Do you think I’ll look good in a garter belt?”

“No.”

He smiled as she shook her head. She took a deep breath. “Alright. I’m going to the ladies.’ And you’re not going to follow me. You can have my—my panties but absolutely no fucking here.”

He watched her walk away, proud with how tall she was and the curious gazes she attracted at every step. People were clearly taken aback with how tall she was. And how blue her eyes were. He was sad to watch her disappear behind a wall.

A server went to their table, asking if he wanted a wine refill. Jaime nodded. Margaery may be around, but he wasn’t going to let her get in the way of whatever pleasure to be had with Brienne while here. But he was glad she was nowhere to be seen.

When Brienne returned a few minutes later, she was clutching her purse to her chest. She was red down to her neck now. Wordlessly, she sat down and, almost solemnly, opened the purse. Jaime peered inside and grinned. He quickly reached inside, crushing the delicate white cotton in his fist before taking a quick sniff.

It smelled of soft and warm woman. And promisingly damp too.

Brienne’s eyes widened while watching him. She reached for a glass, this time getting the right one. He smiled even more watching her drink the water. He stuffed the panties in his jacket pocket.

“You really smell like my wench.”

“Jaime, one of these days, you’ll get arrested for your mouth.”

“Only if you do it, wench.”

Thinking Brienne would combust if he further piled on the dirty talk, he changed the subject. Amazing how much fun he was having, he thought a while later. He watched her talk about spending her junior year in Lys.

At the end of a long work day, he wanted nothing more than to crash in front of a TV with a good sandwich. That was fun for him. He had little expectations for tonight but anything with Brienne was always a pleasure.

Jaime was surprised how much fun he was having. Learning more about Brienne gave him a clearer idea about the woman he had begun to care for so much deeply than anyone in his life. He was warm not just from the wine but with that persistent fever of desire, lust and tenderness for her. His hand was never far from her. Clasping her fingers, tucking a limp tendril behind an ear. Touching her exposed back. She was warm and supple, and every time he touched her he was soothed. Sometimes, while mid-speech, he kissed her.

She always kissed him back. With tongue.

Finally, dessert arrived. Jaime began to relax in his seat. Margaery had not passed close to their table again and he hoped he never saw her again until it was time to leave. If she was going to remain bitter that was her choice. If she wished to terminate the deliveries he made to The Golden Rose, all the better. He’d given her an out, but she refused.

While the chocolate cream pie he made for The Golden Rose was the same recipe as the one he made for Brienne when they first met, he had designed it to fit the elegance and price tag of the restaurant. It was piled with swirls of chocolate and drizzled with fresh cherry sauce.

“This looks absolutely divine,” Brienne breathed, staring at it admiringly after the server set it in front of her. Jaime sipped his coffee, hoping she wouldn’t notice his discomfort. Taking the dessert fork, she cut off a piece and held it out to him. “Try this.”

He shook his head. “Go on, wench. I’m quite full already.”

“Alright. More for me,” she said happily, her lips closing around the sweet, creamy morsel. Her eyes closed and a sexy, pink blush spread across her face. The sight of her lips gently pursing as she chewed, the gentle motions of her throat as she swallowed, made him stir. He shifted awkwardly in his seat. His smile was resigned but amused. Watching Brienne eat was one the sexiest things he’d ever seen. The wench didn’t take small bites. She could be messy. It was fucking hot.

Sure enough, there was a smear of a chocolate and cherry sauce at the top of her lip. “Get over here,” he whispered, drawing his chair closer next to her. She turned to him, a curious look on her face. His eyes shone before leaning in, licking the sauce off her. She gasped.

“Hmm,” he mused. “It’s good.”

“Just have a bite,” she urged him again, offering a loaded fork. He shook his head.

“I really am full, wench. You might have to wheel me out of here.”

He watched her take a few more bites. Licking the fork clean then delicately patting her lips with the cloth napkin, Brienne looked at him then said, “This chocolate cream pie tastes exactly like yours.”

Jaime cleared his throat. “There’s nothing special with mine. Recipes are the same.”

“Well, yeah. But I swear. I’d even go so far as to say this tastes like my Dad’s. Yours would taste like his because he gave you the same recipe. Maybe their chef was mentored by him too?”

Before Jaime could try negating her, she looked past his shoulder and caught someone’s eye. He froze as Margaery stood next to him. She was smiling at Brienne. “Miss Tarth. How are you enjoying dessert?”

“It’s really great,” she answered. “In fact I was just telling my boyfriend it tastes just like his pie. And he learned it from my Dad. I was wondering if your chef was mentored by Selwyn Tarth?”

“No. I can say that for sure. We outsource our desserts, actually.” Margaery glanced at Jaime, mild confusion on her face. “Doesn’t she know?”

“Know what?” Brienne asked. “Jaime, do you know each other?”

“Ah, not really—” He tried to say but he was more concerned with making Margaery shut up. Both women looked at him. When no one spoke, Margaery turned back to Brienne.

“We order our desserts from The Sapphire Patisserie. Just the chocolate cream pie.”

Now Brienne was confused. “From The Sapphire Patisserie? Maybe you got the name wrong. We own it and I can tell you we’re not doing any orders like this.”

“I order them from Jaime myself,” Margaery answered.

The two women stared back at him.

_Shit._

“Er, are you sure?” Brienne asked her. “From Jaime?”

“Yeah, him.” Margaery pointed at him. “Jaime Lannister. He told me his shop was in trouble and I offered to help him out by ordering desserts. It’s an arrangement we’ve had for a while now. At least four months, if I’m not mistaken. And to show his appreciation for my assistance, he fucks me. He used to, anyway. I suppose you’re his new ‘arrangement,’ Miss Tarth.”

******  
Brienne’s head hurt. It felt like it was going to explode.

She went through the following motions on autopilot: putting her coat on, getting her purse. Letting Jaime lead her out of the restaurant. She thought green eyes never left her face. The brown gaze of the hostess lingered on her too, and shot dagger looks at Jaime before getting the door for them. Then she found herself standing on the sidewalk, still staring off into space while Jaime’s voice calling for a taxi rang faint and so far away.

When his hand returned on her arm to pull her to a cab, her vision cleared. She stared in disbelief at the car, then at Jaime. She shook her head. “No.” Her voice seemed disembodied. “No, I can’t—no. Not—not now.”

She snatched her arm away from Jaime, had to push him to escape his grip to stagger back to the sidewalk. Hurl herself blindly into the crowd. There was Jaime again. Calling her again but sounding like he was on the other end of the world.

“Wench—Brienne,” he pleaded, stepping in front of her. She stared dully at his worried face, hair falling over his forehead. He had only slipped his coat halfway up his shoulders. Hands closed around her shoulders. “Don’t go. _Please_. Let’s talk about this.”

For the first time since the dessert bombshell, she was able to focus on him. She pulled away again, ignoring the hurt in his face. “Let’s talk? _Now_ you tell me you want to talk?”

She couldn’t believe it. After months of working side by side. After all his talk about trust! She didn’t hide the accusation and disappointment in her face.

“ _Why_ , Jaime?”

He just stared at her. He was clearly scrambling for words. _More lies_ , she thought. Hating herself for being fooled by another pretty face and talented cock, she brushed past him.

“You’re right. I was wrong to not tell you,” he said, jogging after her to catch up with her long strides. “But Brienne, you have to understand—I was—I was embarrassed. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“How hard is it to tell me?” She demanded. “`Brienne, I’m doing dessert orders for a restaurant.’ ‘I’m making chocolate cream pie for The Golden Rose.’” She paused to glare at him. “From the very first day we began working together, you emphasized trust. I trusted you, Jaime. I told you everything you needed to know. I went to bat for you and it turns out you have this secret side deal?”

She continued storming down the street, yanking her coat closer to her body. Jaime cursed then ran after her again. “Wench, you have to—”

“ _You do not_ ,” she growled. “Get to call me _that!_ ”

Her outburst had him reeling back as if from a punch. Eyes blazing, she continued, “I can try to understand what you did, but you still went behind my back. You knew how much I worried about paying our debt. You didn’t try hard enough to tell me. And you’re sleeping with her out of gratitude?”

Jaime was quickly on the defensive. “I was no longer sleeping with her when we started working together.”

“I don’t care who you fucked, Jaime. That woman. That Sansa. And that other one when I first went to your place. _I don’t care._ But you should have told me about The Golden Rose. How—How were you even getting the orders to her? Who’s paying for the deliveries?”

Jaime looked away, then his shoes. Hands pushed the pockets of his coat. Brienne was about to yell at him when he spoke. “I have them picked up early in the morning. During the flurry of other deliveries. Sometimes. . .Sometimes I have Jon do it. But only I ever made the pies.”

“Without telling me.”

“I didn’t use any of our supplies. Everything I did for that restaurant was from my own pocket. All the payment for the pies went to the shop.”

“Does Jon know? What they were for?”

“Who the fuck cares about him?”

“I do! I need to know if he deceived me too!”

“No! He didn’t do that. It was all me. Brienne—”

“And so what if it was your own money? You roped another employee in this—this scheme. The ingredients are all yours, but you still used _our_ equipment. You charged for time you didn’t put into our shop. Not one word from you. Doing it during delivery hours—of course I wouldn’t notice. You didn’t want me to know.” She was going to bawl her eyes out if she didn’t get a move on. _Fuck_ Jaime if he got her tears too. “I fucking trusted you.”

Because looking at him for another second physically hurt, she whirled away and resumed walking. She angrily swiped the back of her hand across her eyes. With her pace more manageable, he didn’t have to run alongside her. But he was still huffing. “Brienne, come on. We can talk about this. I’m ready to tell you everything now.”

“Because you were found out,” she snapped. “Were you even going to tell me? If I had taken a closer look at our profits, how would you explain the numbers that came out of nowhere? Tell me I made a mistake? That Shae did the math wrong?”

“I was going to tell you! Aren’t you listening? I was embarrassed!”

“Oh no, no, no, no. You don’t get to be embarrassed. What about me going off about the chocolate cream pie that you made all along? What about appearing like a fool before that woman in the restaurant? Do you have any idea how I feel being told you fucked her in gratitude?” Lip and chin wobbling, she whispered, “Is that why you’re fucking me?”

Gods, that really hurt. She still remembered every detail of their Arbor weekend. Every look. Every smile. His every touch. _Can you imagine a day without having my cock in you, wench? I don’t want to. It-It scares me._

_I fuck only you._

_I don’t want anyone else._

_I think I love you already, Jaime._ The memories were daggers twisting deeper and deeper in her gut. In her heart.

Shocked, he roared, “What the actual fuck, Brienne?”

 _That_ was not the answer she was looking for. She stepped away from him, her knees quaking so badly she feared she would fall. Knowing for sure tears were imminent, she once again tried turning away but he caught her around the shoulders. They stared at each other, their faces mirroring hurt. She flinched when he kissed her on the cheek, the lips.

Gods _fucking hell_ how she still _burned_ for him. A good fuck always messed with your head. Drove you to do really idiotic things. Her lips, parting and ready to kiss him back, suddenly closed. She shook her head repeatedly, whimpering. He grunted, panting roughly against her as he pressed his face to her chin.

“You have to let me go, Jaime.”

“Please, no—” 

She refused to look at him, focusing instead on removing his hands from her finger by finger. He was breathing shakily too. When she was finally free, he still refused to give her room to turn and walk. So she had to physically remove him in order to go.

Keeping her head down, she huddled in her coat and ran away, willing for the night to engulf her.

*******  
That made it two hours and forty-fucking-eight minutes.

Calls ignored. Texts unanswered. Voice mail upon voice mail. Jaime was tired from pacing up and down his apartment, anxiously waiting for acknowledgment from Brienne. Anything. But there was nothing.

He could have followed her home. Forced her to talk to him. Fuck her eyes and her heartbroken face when she asked him _that_ question. _Is that why you’re fucking me?_ How could she think that? Did she not realize—how could she not have felt how much he wanted her? He didn’t just need her. He wanted her. All of her. Her breath. Her eyes. Her scent. The warmth of her presence in his apartment. In his life.

There was no way he was getting any rest tonight. He was too worried, too scared. Just trying to think of a tomorrow without Brienne brought only a black void. He couldn’t face that pain. Any pain he’d willingly take but not her absence.

To regain some semblance of calm, he turned to the kitchen. He stood by the counter, in his mind an image of Brienne as she washed the dishes or reached for something in the cupboard. Because she was tall she never had to tiptoe or step on a stool to get something that high. He saw her standing by the counter, apple-cheeked and rumpled from riding his cock through the night. He closed his eyes to escape this vision but she taunted even more.

How could he be furious at her question? She was right. He didn’t trust her enough. He could tell her how afraid he was to lose her, but it all boiled down to a lack of trust.

Sniffling, he started getting things from shelves and cupboards. Flour. Salt. Sugar. Bowl. Whisk. Butter from the fridge. He arranged them in a neat line on the counter. He had no idea what was going to happen, but his hands did.

He poured flour and salt in the bowl, mixing them to make a dough. A glance was all it took to check the preferred consistency before slicing butter into thin squares. Then he put them in the mix too, along with water. He whisked them together until they formed a ball. He put cling wrap around the ball and put it in the fridge.

While it chilled, he brought more ingredients to the counter. Eggs. Shredded Coconut. Almonds. Caster sugar. Because inspiration could strike anytime, he kept the kitchen well-stocked with every kind of ingredient needed and could be used for a pastry. He also had a shelf crammed with homemade jams and preserves.

He ground up the almonds, mixed in almond extract. The whole time he worked, he kept one eye on the phone, one ear to the door. Silence. When exhaustion sank in, he only made it as far as the sofa. He loosened his tie, kicked off his Oxfords. The late hour was cold, but he was so zapped of strength, the overstuffed white couch felt softer than it usually was. Before laying his head on a pillow, he dug in his jacket for Brienne’s panties. He pressed it to his nose, curled up on the couch and slept.

Instead, he dreamed.

It was a dark world. And cold. Colder than anything he’d felt. Water sloshed around his ankles. He stood there, trying to see, praying for light. He hated the dark and with not even a stitch of clothing for protection, he was seized with fear.

Fear. The emotion he most loathed. Fear was the night he lay wide-eyed in bed, trembling from his drunken father storming to rain blows on his head, his body. Fear was finding Tywin passed out and too still to be alive on the couch. Fear was the bitter bile flooding his mouth as he stared at the empty fridge, trying to numb himself from another night with little to no food. It was also the tremors overtaking his body when he stood on the stage of the Westeros Grand Sugar battle, hoping against hope it was his name the judges called. That the gamble worked.

Suddenly, he heard a sound. A rustle. He started, breathing harshly. “Who’s there?”

“Jaime,” a gravely, familiar voice spoke. He jumped as a filmy figure advanced toward him. Water ripped around his ankles as slowly, the man’s face cleared.

Fear fled once he recognized him. _“Selwyn.”_

White light surrounded Selwyn. He loomed over Jaime, powerful even in death. Yet Jaime didn’t cower. He stared at him in both joy and relief. “It’s really you.”

“I left the patisserie in your hands,” Selwyn said, shaking his head slowly. Jaime felt even smaller. Less of a human at the disappointment in the old man’s face. “I believed in you, Jaime.”

“I-I tried. Selwyn, I didn’t know what else to do.”

But Selwyn just looked at him. The white light seemed to fade until there was only the blue of his eyes. Jaime tried reaching for him but there was suddenly a loud splash right behind him. He turned around wildly, bracing for an attack. His knees buckled in relief.

_“Brienne.”_

She was nude too. Under the pale shaft of light, he saw her round tits jiggle as she looked around in panic. Her eyes were big. “Why are we here? Why is it so dark?”

He went to her and she put a hand on his shoulder, clutching him. _She’s warm._ “Jaime, what’s going on? Why won’t you tell me?” Her eyes shone but with hurt. “Did you ever trust me?”

He was shaking. He tried to turn, to show her Selwyn. To apologize to him, to her. But he couldn’t move. Instead he could only stare at her. Wanting so much to hold her and never let her go. Instead, her hand fell from his shoulder and she turned away.

Taking with her warmth. Her blue eyes. The light of his world.

_“Brienne! No!”_

He heard himself shouting as he came awake, followed by the hushed tones of a deep but feminine voice. He opened his eyes and there was Brienne, her blue eyes red-rimmed and her hand on his cheek. He gasped and clutched her hand, needing the comfort of her touch to know the dream was over.

“It’s alright. It’s just a dream,” she reassured him. He stared at her anxiously.

“Tell me this is not. You’re really here.”

“I am.”

He sat up, frowning when Brienne moved away but she only did so to give him room. He noticed for the first time her hair was matted close to her skull and her face had a pale, wet sheen. It was riddled with droplets of water. “You came back,” he whispered, bringing her hand back to his face. “You’re wet.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I went for a walk and then it rained. I—I was knocking and then I heard you screaming.”

“I’m alright.” _She’s here._ He was probably forgiven. Or he had a shot now.

Feeling himself about to burst from the relief of her return, Jaime suddenly wrapped a hand around her nape. Incredulous sapphire eyes stared at him just before he smashed his mouth to hers. She tasted of rain and of chocolate. He tilted his head, pleading with her with every glide of his mouth to forgive him, to never leave. It took a few seconds, but she leaned into him, pressing her body on him.

Holding her, he lowered them to the couch, putting her on top of him. The time for soft, teasing kisses was gone. Now was for the frantic fusion of mouths, inelegant tongue thrusts and hands grabbing and tearing at clothes. Her wet coat plopped on the floor. She climbed to her knees, trying to turn to unzip her dress while he sat up to attack his shirt. As he battled against the belt holding his trousers, she suddenly jumped off his lap.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He demanded, panicking.

She was panting and blushing. “I have to—Jaime, I have to remove something first.”

“I’ll help,” he said, pulling at her dress. She stilled his hands.

“No. It’s—It’s—Jaime, it’s my tampon.”

Then she took off in the direction of the bathroom. It would have been a funny situation if not for previous events. Jaime got rid of the rest of his clothes. Nude, he went to stand in front of the bathroom door, listening to the faint rustle of her movements. He was about to barge in when the door opened.

And then they were kissing again, mouths stubbornly attached as they whirled and tripped into the bedroom. His hip hit the edge of a table but he hardly felt the pain. Consumed by the wet, cool feel of Brienne’s skin and the contrast of her sweet, warmth mouth, he could probably take every degree of pain and barely notice.

They fell on the floor, Brienne straddling his lap as she pulled her dress down. Her tits free, Jaime clasped her round the back, latching on one of her hard, plump nipples. She hissed and whimpered, rubbing cunt against his cock as he nursed rain from her nipple. She was shaking. More goosebumps rose on the surface of her skin. He groaned then turned to take her other nipple deep in his mouth.

She was wheezing his name as she cradled him to her tits. His cock was ready to pound in her cunt but he couldn’t stop from tasting her sweet, firm nipples. Couldn’t get enough of her husky cries every time he suckled her. He palmed her buttocks, squeezing roughly before slapping them once, twice.

“Jaime,” she sobbed. “Now. Fuck me now.”

He turned, putting her under his body. A look in her eyes then he seized his cock. She spread her legs impossibly side, raising her hips. He rammed into her channel, taking her mouth in a rough kiss as she cried out. He fucked her hard, hardly giving her sticky, wet cunt respite before punching back inside. She fucked him back just as hard, and even bit him _. She bit him._

As Brienne ate at his lips and met the thrusts of his tongue with her own, he pounded into her. Braced one of his hands beside her shoulder for leverage. She grabbed on the leg of the bed and threw her legs high around his waist. Gods above but her cunt was wet like the earth after a rain, easily parting for his cock, yet hotter and sweeter than the sun. The speeding ripples of her cunt alerted him to her imminent orgasm. He fucked her faster, desperate to be so deep inside her that they would never be apart again.

He went lightheaded watching Brienne come in his arms: the muscles of her back rippling and tensing against his hand as she arched, her tits jiggling, nipples swollen from his kisses and gleaming his spit, and her eyes, almost a deep navy color that had stolen light from all the stars. He shouted her name, head falling on her shoulder as her cunt tightened around his cock like a tight, slippery snare.

The rest of the night was a blur. What was clear was his hunger for Brienne. Satiated once he was deep in her cunt only to be seized by another wave more intense than the last. She let him fuck her in every way he wanted. Willingly opened her mouth for his cock, her eyes soft as her lips slurped him dry. Wailed and growled his name as he took her in the ass, her head turned to him awkwardly because he begged to look in her eyes. When he was finally too tired for another round, he pulled her in his arms. He fell asleep to her whispers that she was sticky. That she needed to clean up. He shook his head and told her not to leave.

But he woke up alone in bed. Tiredly, he squinted at the time on the bedside clock. One-seventeen in the morning. He turned to the bathroom, hoping that Brienne had only gone there for a bit. But when a few minutes passed without her returning, he sat up and switched on the lamp.

The stickiness between his thighs got him to the bathroom. There, he washed away the dried blood from his cock. A quick inspection of the sheets and the rug showed several spots of blood. When he headed out of the bedroom, he stepped on Brienne’s wet velvet dress.

He found her in the kitchen loading dirty bowls and plates in the dishwasher. She was wearing his clothes—a faded plaid robe, an old t-shirt, an older pair of plaid boxer shorts, thick gym socks. Judging from the spic-and-span condition of the kitchen, she had been awake for some time and cleaning. When she finally noticed him, she straightened up.

“You’re really here,” he said.

She blushed from his nude body. “You should put clothes on. It’s chilly.”

“Come back to bed?” He held out a hand to her.

To his surprise, she just stared at it. When she shifted her gaze to his face, she asked, “What happens when I take that? Will you fuck me again into forgiving you?”

“I’m not that man, Brienne.” Damn. Her words hurt.

“I don’t know. I want you, Jaime. You know that. I’m so angry at you and at myself because I can’t stop wanting you.” She bit her lip. “You didn’t trust me. I should be more furious, but I can’t be.”

When he dared to look at her, his worst fear was confirmed. “There. That’s the look. That’s why I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to look at me the way you are now.”

“Don’t put this on me.”

“I’m not proud of keeping it a secret from you, Brienne. And of the things I did in connection to it.” He took a step toward her. She took a step back, shaking her head. “I’m a hateful man. Your father put his faith in the wrong man. The worst of them. Look at what I’d done. I am sorry for never telling you. I’ll never stop regretting that. I’m sorry for sleeping with those women. But you need to know I never cared for them. Only you.” He was pleading. “If you can still believe that.”

“Sleeping with those women has nothing to do with me. But why, Jaime? Why did you. . .why did you think that was your only choice? Why did _you_ have to be part of that deal?”

“I’m a fraud.”

“No. You’re not. Stop it!” She exclaimed as he kept shaking her head. He went to her, grabbing her by the shoulders before she can leap out of his touch.

 _“Look at me._ I’m no good. The man in the papers. The man everyone praised. The chef Blackfish thought I was—I’m no longer that man. I fooled them all. Selwyn. He was wrong to believe in me. Look what I did to repay him.” Brienne was now the one shaking her head. “ _Listen. I_ ran the patisserie to the ground. Fucking prostituted _myself_ to get discounts on supplies. For Margaery to keep ordering the pies. Extensions. More discounts. More deals. _That’s the kind of man I am, Brienne._ ”

“Why would you think you’re a fraud?” She demanded. “Jaime, you have to tell me—I’m begging you. _I can’t do this alone._ ”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m sick of steering solo this fucking ship we’re on. I’m sick of trying to convince you you’re a great chef. I’m here because I would still like to believe you’re the man I love but I can’t---I can’t be with you if you keep doing this to yourself! I’m trying, Jaime, if that’s still not obvious. I’m here. But you have to help me understand you.”

Her face curdled into a pained grimace. Jaime ran his fingers through his hair, not knowing where to begin. How to tell her things. Her words banged repeatedly in his mind. Shrill and faint echoes. He turned away from her and staggered to the bedroom.

“Jaime—” Brienne said but he closed the door. Leaned against it. His fingers curled on the wood as he listened to her soft, weak sob. _“Jaime, please.”_

When he still refused to open the door, she said, “You can’t make me hate you. _I can’t._ I promised to fight for us. You have to trust me, Jaime. Make me understand. You will never be deserving of hate. Never to me. Please, Jaime.”

She rapped on the door. Tried jiggling the doorknob. As he listened to her curse and call him, something she said suddenly he hit him. He stared at the door, disbelieving his memory.

But he opened the door anyway. He stared at her blotchy face and swollen eyes. “What did you say to me?”

Confused, she squinted at him. “What are you talking about?”

“No,” he insisted. “Before I closed the door. Before you called me. You said something.” He didn’t hide his desperation. He had to know. Pride was a privilege he didn’t have at the moment. And probably not for a very long time. “When you said you’re sick of steering solo. You said something, wench. You said it!”

Brienne’s eyes widened. Then he saw the color drain from her face.

“I love you, Jaime.”

********  
In between stirring cocoa powder and milk in the saucepan, Brienne kept glancing at Jaime. He sat on the couch, his back turned to her. He had put on a robe. He rested his head on the tent of his hands.

Nothing about recent events came close to how she imagined things would unfold once she told him her true feelings. But she didn’t really plan on telling him. Not this soon.

There was no taking it back. Nor did she want to.

She threw a pinch of salt then sugar into the swirling chocolate. The warm, rich aroma of the beverage filled the apartment. Finishing, she poured the drink into big mugs. She looked in the cupboard and found a package of marshmallows there.

Hard to imagine that just minutes ago, the kitchen was a disaster. Dirty bowls and dishes, whisks dripping with mixture. Flour and sugar littering the counter and the floor. Jaime’s training made him a stickler for cleanliness and order so the mess was very uncharacteristic. But she was thankful for the distraction of the necessary clean-up. Keeping busy always calmed her. Rather than trying to sort their current situation, she needed to step away for it, even for a few moments.

It was easier said than done. Not when every part of her body still tingled from his kisses. Her ass tender from his cock. Her cunt wrapped in the sweet, familiar soreness in the aftermath of their passionate fucking. His old t-shirt had roughened from many washings, abrading her swollen nipples. It was close to the sensation of his beard.

She went to Jaime with the hot cocoa. He looked up, straightened in the couch and moved to make room for her. She put the mugs on the coffee table, right next to the box of pizza and the daisies wrapped in silver foil. They were damp.

“What’s this?” he asked, tapping the box lightly. He was pale. In his eyes was a haunted, shadowed look. No easy smiles. No mischievous sparkle. In just a few hours, the golden, smiling man that made her weak in the knees seemed a stranger. He looked small and withered under his robe.

“Apologies.”

“Apologies. For what?”

“For going off on you in the street.”

He picked up the daisies. Their bright yellow color was an unexpected burst of sunshine in the winter. “I didn’t know you can still get them in winter. They’re nice. But all apologies should come from me.”

He was looking at her when he said the last sentence. She sighed. Her anger had simmered from the pyroclastic surge ready to burst from her pores. But she could not hate him. She was simply incapable. Angry, yes. But she was scraping the barrel for the slightest amount of disdain for him. How, when she hurt for him? _A fraud._ How could he think that about himself?

“They made me think of you,” she confessed. Her cheeks warmed as she looked at the daisies. He was still holding them.

“Not exactly what I’d associate with me,” he said, putting them down gently. “Unless they symbolize for someone who feels like a low life form.”

The insinuation drew a scowl from her. “Is that what you think?”

“You asked me why I fuck you.” He scrubbed his palms through his face.

“I told you I love you and you believe I think of you that way?” She demanded, hurt lacing her tone. He finally looked at her. At least he seemed contrite.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I just—when you left, I thought that was it. And you didn’t answer my calls.”

“I have every right to be angry, Jaime. I should be allowed that. True, you made a business deal before I came on, but you should have told me. We’re partners. What other terms or conditions apply—” Her voice trailed off. Jaime’s face was grave.

“I was no longer sleeping with Margaery when you showed up at the shop that day.”

“I’m out of that. It doesn’t matter to me,” she insisted.

“Well it matters to me that it doesn’t matter to you,” he shot back.

“If you’re looking for some harsh judgment from me, that’s not happening. What upsets me is you were not forthcoming. I don’t need a list of the people you slept with before me. But when it’s a business and I’m involved, I need to know.” She took his hand, looking in his eyes. “Jaime,” she said softly. “Tell me. Tell me everything I need to know.”

He sighed and once again shoved his face in his palms. She couldn’t believe it. He meant nothing by taking his hand away, but she immediately missed his touch. At what point had she become so tied to his touch that being without it left her bereft and so alone?

She reached for one of the mugs and took a small sip. The hot, sweet liquid was silken fire. She put it back on the table and spoke.

“Until we went to the Arbor, I told myself that if you were still sleeping with anyone else that was none of my business. The gods know I tried to be above that. I failed. But who was I to make demands of you? You fucked me because you liked it. I was the same. But I fell in love with you.” She bit her lip. “Despite thinking that you were probably still with these other women, I fell for you. That’s on me. Not you. I thought nothing can change that,” she added. “But. . .I have to be honest, Jaime. Things will be very different if you still can’t trust me.”

She pulled up her knees and hugged them to her chest. It was a stance she took whenever feeling vulnerable. Hold herself tightly to keep pieces of her heart from disintegrating. 

“I’m angry you kept your deal about the pie and all its. . . _inclusions_ —” both of them flinched at her attempt to be neutral—" when you’ve always emphasized trust. I’m angry you had no choice but to make yourself part of that deal. That hurts me too. And then you think yourself a fraud. . .”

“I am.”

_“No.”_

“You don’t know,” he said. “You don’t know the truth.”

“Then tell me. Jaime, please. I’m here. I can choose not to be, but I am here. With you.” Startling them bot,h she grabbed his hand and kissed it firmly. _“Fighting for us.”_

His eyes fell on her mouth, at their joined hands. She watched memories of their porchside vows flit across his face. She pulled his hand to her heart, cradling it gently in both hands. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you, Jaime. But you will have to start trusting me. You will have to try becoming the man I know you are.”

“I fucked up so much.”

“It’s not too late to fix that.”

He pulled her hand to his lips. He didn’t kiss it. He just held it there, pressed his face on it then held it tightly. He glanced at her and then, very, very slowly, began to speak.

“The first few months of the shop were so good. There were always lines. There was always a crowd. And I was winning these contests. Who didn’t want a taste of my creations? But it got to the point. . .as it always goes with everything. . .when the interest began to die down. I didn’t know what to do.”

He suddenly paused. Brienne was alarmed when she saw he looked he was going to cry.

“Jaime, you have to _trust_ me,” she begged. He nodded, took a deep breath and continued.

“The first time I won the Westeros Grand Sugar Battle. . .I really did win that. And the second time. But the third. The fourth time. . .” He looked physically ill. Now Brienne was worried. What happened to him? She moved closer, putting an arm around his shoulders. To her surprise, he stretched out. Making it clear he wished to lay his head on her lap. She lowered her legs and guided him there. Gently, she smoothed the hair from his face while he held her hand to his chest.

“I wanted to win so badly. Nobody has won anything like that three, four times in a row. I wanted that record, wench. Usually I prepared for months. Conceptualizing. Experimenting. Everything. I practiced too. The shop. . .the shop was in deep shit. Utilities had not been paid for weeks. The suppliers. Staff. I took out another loan to pay everything. It didn’t last two months. Then there was the contest. I wasn’t ready. I refused to pull out. I was desperate. If I won, it meant publicity for the patisserie. Money.”

He breathed deeply, blinking rapidly. He clutched her hand.

“What happened?”

He sighed. “I slept with two of the judges.”

Now she gripped his hand. She saw how much it cost him to say it to her. Under her hand, she felt the erratic beating of his heart. She rubbed his chest, urging him with touch to take a deep breath. Wanted to tell him that if it was too difficult to go on, she would understand. But he continued holding her hand, his grip bruising. She was holding him just as hard.

“I was ready to do anything for the shop, Brienne. _Anything_. I found out who they were. Sought them at the bar.” He turned away, clearly ashamed. “You can imagine what happened next. I won. At that time I thought it was worth it. The money I won paid off the loan I took. Customers were back in the shop. The press too. But it only lasted for so long and the bills piled up again. It was another year before the next contest.”

He stopped again. She watched him struggle to find the words. Trying to diffuse the harshness, the cruelty of a truth. Her hand traced the firm line of his jaw. A desolate green gaze met her eyes.

“Jaime, it if hurts. . .if it’s too much—”

“No.” He closed his eyes, shook his head briefly then opened them. “Brienne. I want you to know. You must know this about me.”

He looked at her hopefully. She hesitated then nodded. “Alright. But if you want to stop anytime. . .and I’m not going anywhere, Jaime.”

She kissed him on the forehead and indicated that he go on.

It didn’t get any easier. For the next hour, he told her. Everything. How he befriended the women behind the patisserie’s supplies. There was always someone pretty enough, with enough power to let it slide if he missed a few bills or swung a significant discount his way. He flirted and bedded his way into ensuring the shop survived despite the debts.

For a while it worked. Then he won the title of Westeros Grand Sugar Champion for the fourth straight year, once again employing seduction to bag it. There was money again. Interviews. He paid off the suppliers but continued all those affairs. They were pretty women, he told her. He liked fucking. At least it wasn’t too much of a chore. He resorted to fucking other food writers too. Publicity meant customers and customers meant money. If not a lot then enough for the patisserie to survive year after year.

He made a face talking about the hostess of The Golden Rose. Margaery was her name, he told her. He branched out into trying supplying restaurants with desserts but most of them did their own. Only Margaery agreed. By then he had a reputation.

“I was called the Pastry Bag.” He looked sickened.

Right then, Brienne decided to tell him what she knew. “So I’ve read.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

Blushing, feeling herself shake, she spilled the truth. Yes, she knew his nickname. She had read online he slept around. Every word out of her mouth seemed like a criminal charge at Jaime. He looked hurt. He rose from her lap to stand up, walking around the apartment, hands scrubbing his face repeatedly.

“You knew these things about me and. . .and what? What did you expect from me?” He demanded.

 _“Nothing.”_ Brienne got to her feet too, stopping him before he can walk another round in the apartment. He wouldn’t look at her, so she put a hand on his chin, turning him to her. “Jaime. Look at me. I fucked you because I wanted _you_. _I wanted you for you._ I expected nothing more than that. I wasn’t looking to fall for you.”

“You still asked me why I fuck you,” he said, moving away from her touch.

“Put yourself in my shoes, Jaime. You keep things from me. Then I find out from some woman that besides some business arrangement you’ve also thrown your body as a bonus. She said you let her fuck you out of gratitude.” Images of that brunette with her slim, ivory arms around Jaime flitted in her mind. She stared hard at his profile, at the messy golden hair and slumped shoulders. “I helped you put the shop back on its feet. Can you blame me for thinking that we fuck for the same reason?”

“I’ve been wanting to tell you.” He sighed helplessly and went back to the couch. She watched him sit down heavily. “I was so scared of losing you. I still am.”

“I’ve been telling you all night I love you,” she growled in frustration.

“I don’t see how you can still love me.”

“Fuck you, Jaime. _Fuck you so much._ I don’t care how ugly some parts of you are. What matters to me is your trust. That you care for me enough. To trust me to know about the parts of yourself you hate. If your reason for telling me these affairs is to test me, you’re a fucking asshole.”

“You sure know how to kick a man when he’s down, don’t you?”

“No! Stop this! This-this feeling sorry for yourself. Thinking yourself unworthy for someone to genuinely care for you. Testing me. I love you, Jaime. I fucking love you but if you’re going to continue on this path you’re going to lose me. I’m fighting for you. _For us_. What have you done?”

She was so furious over his continued self-flagellation and doubts about the depths of her love that she was itched to hurl the nearest object at him. But she was standing next to a chair. With a throw pillow on it. Her eyes shone with the tears she couldn’t believe threatened to fall once again. As soon as he glimpsed that telltale sheen, Jaime shot to his feet. The hot cocoa spilled on the table, on the floor as his shin hit the edge of the furniture. He winced from the pain, but it didn’t stop him from taking her in his arms.

“I’m sorry. Gods, wench, I’m sorry.”

“Stop fucking apologizing and feeling sorry for yourself,” she grunted, pressing her face on his shoulder. She hugged him around the waist. He swept a hand through her hair, her cheek. She let him move her so they could look at each other.

“I love you,” she whispered, taking his face in both hands. “It doesn’t mean I’m blind about who you are.”

He looked at her, his expression a mix of disbelief and hope. He held her hand to his face, thumb rubbing it as he nodded slowly. He sighed when she rested her forehead on his.

“I wanted out, Brienne. I wanted to sell. I didn’t want to fuck anyone I knew I was never going to care about,” he confessed. “I hated myself. I felt so dirty. And then came you.”

“Oh, Jaime.”

“You came with guns glazing but your eyes are you ultimate weapon. I saw passion in you. Passion like I once had. I’ve been wanting to do right by Selwyn. He was one of the few people to believe in me until you. And look what I did.”

She shook her head. “It’s not too late.”

The she hugged him, firming her hold when he sagged against her. She kissed him on the cheek and continued to hold him. It was on the tip of her tongue to say she loved him again. But there was only so much words, her arms, her heart could do. Jaime was going to have to pick up the pieces of his broken himself.

She twined her fingers through his and pulled him into the bedroom. He followed her, his eyes never leaving her face, searching for her even as they stepped into the darkness of the room. Then his mouth was on hers, exploring her curves and hollows.

When his hands roamed her hips, she suddenly stopped him. He was so warm to the touch. She felt as if struck with fever too. “I have to. . .” Despite the protection of the dark, she felt her face burning. “I have to take it out, Jaime.”

“Alright. Try not to take too long.”

Each was reluctant to let go. She watched him flick on the lamp on his nightstand before taking off the robe. She went to the bathroom, catching sight of her red face in the mirror while pulling out the tampon. A quick wash then she discarded the rest of her clothes.

She returned to bed nude. She spread her legs crawling toward him, blushing as the squelch of her cunt gave away how wet she was. A warm ache spread in her tits, her nipples tightening. Jaime was leaning against the pillows, his chest bare, hairs golden in the light.

He met her with a kiss, taking her face in his hand while grasping her waist with the other. His revelations should have soured her. Sent her running. Instead she kissed him harder, drinking from his mouth and pushing her tongue inside as if to collect the rarest, sweetest nectar. She gasped from the press of her tits on his hard chest, the hairs scraping her nipples deliciously.

She continued kissing him along the hairline then just held him as his head moved lower, then lower, until the familiar bristles of his beard abraded her tits. A warm, greedy mouth tugged at her nipple. She arched her neck, glorying in the hungry draw of his mouth, the bunched muscles of his shoulders under her hands and his cock nudging at her slit, poking her clit.

When his mouth returned to hers, she welcomed him with slower, lingering kisses. Mouths simply laying open as their tongues sparred and tangled. She lined his jaw with butterfly kisses while touching him wherever she could reach—shoulder, chest, the jut of bone at his hip. It was a child’s fantasy to believe kisses healed but she was going to try. If her kisses and caresses could help mend Jaime she was going to try.

She licked down his throat, pleased with how he arched toward her wet kiss like a cat. She nuzzled the hairs of his chest, tongue flicking out to take a nipple, lips pursing around the other. His fingers pushed and tangled in her hair. The rough hairs of his thighs tickled the sides of her hips as he surrendered to her gentle, lingering touches. He was taut flesh over hard muscle and sinew, and under all that a heart crushed so many times. She laved kisses on his chest, sighed against the flat, firm plane of his abs.

Over the fall of her hair, with only the beam of light from the lamp to guide her, she watched Jaime groan and thrust into her touches. His face was slack from the ecstasy building up with every brush of her lips and glide of her tongue on his skin. She rubbed her lips down the long, muscled length of his right thigh, his knee, then kissed her way up his left ankle, left leg. When she finally clasped his cock, he groaned in relief.

The foreskin had retracted to reveal the gleaming, bulbous head. Keeping her eyes on Jaime, she opened her mouth. Wrapped her lips around the head. And sucked.

“Brienne,” he hissed. His eyes shone like emerald shards.

She advanced down the base of his cock, where her hand was rubbing the foreskin. In perfect, sensual rhythm, her mouth bathed the slick length then pulled away as she guided the foreskin back on that spot. On and on it went, one sensation replacing the other. Jaime’s hips thrust eagerly at her. He watched her the entire time.

She moaned around his cock as she felt it getting harder in the wet cage of her mouth. She squeezed his balls gently, loving how plump and firm they felt. Jaime looked like he was between heaven and hell as she continued feasting on his cock. He tasted slightly of salt. Smelled gently of that dark, masculine musk that can only be scented from his part of his body. A scent that only she would know from now on.

Suddenly, he grabbed her by the hair. She grunted, falling over him clumsily as she crushed his mouth in a needy kiss. He kissed her back frantically. Their hands seemed engaged in a battle on who can touch the other most in so little time, who can make the other melt first. He groaned against her tongue as she grabbed his cock, rubbed it again. He kept kissing her face as she scrambled to see in the dark, sweeping her legs wide open around his hip before sinking down the hard column of his cock.

_“Jaime.”_

He captured her mouth again. _“Brienne.”_

He lay on his back, holding tightly against his chest. She moaned from the hungry latch of his mouth on her nipples. Cried out when he suddenly slammed her hips on him, pushing his cock deeper in her cunt. She was dazed and weak from sensations—his beard on her wet nipples, calloused hands on her back, her ass, his cock parting the soft, wet folds of her cunt. Their bodies made wet, smacking sounds.

She wished it would never end. Being with Jaime like this was like being claimed yet also owning him. She let him roll her to her back, taking her mouth again while his cock continued ramming in her cunt in rough, furious thrusts. She spread her legs wide, toes curling on the bed as she thrust her hips up at him. Meeting him stroke for stroke.

Their cries split into the quiet of the night. They lay facing each other in the aftermath, legs looped around each other, hands entwined. He sighed as she touched the scars he’d collected over the years. Then she pulled his hand closer until she could kiss it. They slept holding hands.

Snow fell again through the night, once again cloaking the streets in white.

It was the soft thump on the nighstand that roused her hours later. She opened her eyes to a gray morning, for the drapes had not been pulled closed. As she blinked to clear the crusty bits of sleep from her eyes, she saw Jaime assembling something on the table. She watched him, the robe swirling around his legs as he fluffed the daisies. They were now in a delicate little glass vase, in the middle of two plates holding pizza slices. Her stomach growled once she scented the aroma of tomato sauce, fresh coffee and—

“Hey, you’re awake,” Jaime kissed her on the forehead as she sat up. He smiled at her. She smiled back, reaching up to touch his dimple. Her Jaime. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” she murmured, blushing when he kissed her on the lips next. He sat down next to her, passing a cup of fresh coffee to her. As she sipped, she glanced at the strange pastries on the third plate. She squinted at the confection made of delicate, flaky-looking pastry. It was sliced into triangles, topped with shavings that appeared to be coconut or maybe icing. In between the folds of puffy pastry peeked the crimson sliver of what seemed to be jam.

“Jaime,” she asked slowly. “What’s that?”

“Oh, something I made earlier. I started the dough last night then finished this morning,” he answered, squeezing hot sauce on his pizza. He watched her pick up a piece, inspecting it. “Try it.”

She took a small bite. Perfectly puffy, flaky crust. Just the right amount of raspberry jam. And indeed, that was coconut. And almonds too. She took a second bite, bigger this time. When she turned to Jaime, he was looking at her hopefully. “Well?”

She licked her lips, grinning at him. “What is this? It’s really, really good.”

“I don’t know. I just made it,” he answered. “But you can name it being as you directly inspired the end product.”

“How on earth is this inspired by me?” She asked, swiping her thumb on the raspberry jam dripping from between the pastry. She plucked a strand of coconut too with her thumb, bringing it to her mouth. “There’s nothing of me here.”

“Are you sure, wench?”

His eyes lowered, lingering on her tits, then her stomach before resting between her legs. There was no mistaking the lust and hunger on his face. Brienne blushed violently.

“Holy fucking hells, Jaime. Tell me my pussy didn’t inspire this!”

He spread his hands. “Starting last night, I refuse to keep anything from you. So yes. Your pussy did inspire it.”

“And on my period!” She shrieked, torn between outrage and wanting another bite. She stared at the bit of raspberry jam peeking between the folds. “I can’t believe you!”

She put the pastry back on the plate. Without warning, she lunged for Jaime. He laughed, catching her in his arms and kissing her all over the face. Eventually his kisses melted her scowl into a smile, albeit an embarrassed one. He cupped her face and kissed her deeply on the mouth. She moaned and gave in to the kiss.

“I love you, Brienne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pastry Jaime makes at the end of the chapter is inspired by London Cheesecake, a treat catherinflowers introduced to me while I was looking for dessert that could be inspired by Brienne's, ahem, lady garden! I did one teeny change--I made the shape a triangle. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, why not? You’ve taken it upon yourself to save the shop, Brienne. Save me. And if that’s how it went I’d rather pass on the job. I’m trying to be a better man. I can’t have you always swooping in to feed my fucking ego.”  
> “You’re an asshole! Of course I didn’t! And fuck you for thinking I did!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we see Jaime and Brienne a few days after their first blowup. There are still things to fix. A lot of things. But they also have a sort of second honeymoon, so to speak. You'll see!
> 
> Mindless porn ahead. If you need to shut your brain, this chapter is for you, readers!

A lull in the middle of the afternoon was the perfect time for Brienne to look over the shop’s pending bills. With Shae left alone front of house, Brienne returned to the office where a stack of bills waited.

This was the ultimate drudge work in running a business—anything involving money. As one of the creatives in Spectrum, the responsibility of money was not hers to bear. More often, she didn’t even have to worry about budget, especially with a multi-million dragon account.

Armed with a calculator, she computed the cost of rent, electricity, water, gas. She was staring dully at the numbers in the narrow window panel when a brief rap came to the door. Rubbing her eyes, she turned and saw Jaime letting himself in.

He really was a sight for sore eyes. Immaculate in his white uniform, sinfully sexy with his apron, the fine layer of flour and sugar covering him and that freshly-baked pastry scent. Her nipples tightened in response, making her pink in the cheeks when he glanced at her.

Since the night he told her the truth about his secret business dealings, there was an extra spring in his step. He was more relaxed in the kitchen too—Jon and the others had asked her if he was coming down with something because he wasn’t yelling as much.

A tenderness now laced their fucking too. It was still very urgent, very passionate, but there were now more moments of staring in each other’s eyes. Or just touching. Holding each other. Nowadays he insisted on having her sleep in his arms rather than the other way around. It was a little awkward because of her height. The position meant she had to bend her legs too. They settled for Jaime spooning against her, his mouth pressed on her shoulder.

“Hey,” she greeted him happily. He smiled and kissed her gently on the lips before parking on the edge of the desk. She watched him glance at the bills and the calculator.

“You alright there, wench?” He asked, fluffing the top of her hair with his fingers. “You’ve been here for a while.”

“Bills,” she explained with a sigh. She suddenly wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face on his chest. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He continued touching her hair. It was a nothing, little touch, really. But it was almost drugging. She wanted to arch her spine like a cat. Instead she kept her face pressed against him, inhaling his scent and leaning against his strong body.

“I have just the thing to cheer you up,” he said, kissing her forehead.

She looked at him hopefully. “You’re taking me home?”

He chuckled. “Not that good, I’m afraid.”

“Fuck you.”

“Are you doing anything tonight? I mean, you still don’t have anything to wear to the engagement party and you might go shopping with Ellaria after work.”

“No, we’re doing it tomorrow. But if you have a great reason for me to get out of it—well, not even a great one—tell me now. Ellaria won’t even allow me in a cocktail dress.”

“Wench,” he said, his eyes soft. To be looked at the way Jaime was doing now made her feel she was perfect. Caressing her cheek, he murmured, “I fucked up the last time we had dinner out. I want to make it up to you.”

“That’s really nice, Jaime. But you don’t have to make up anything to me,” she assured him. Their first date was a disaster, but it also led them to be honest with each other. That was the takeaway she was never going to regret. As he continued caressing her cheek, she continued, “But I do welcome time off from doing the dishes.”

“So, tonight then? I thought we can watch the conclusion of the Kingdoms trilogy. It’s been out for weeks so lines won’t be a problem.”

“Might as well, being that I saw the first two. But the reviews aren’t good.”

“Yeah, but let’s see how bad it is and then have an excellent dinner.”

She grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

“And if the cinema’s nearly empty, we can just get a seat in the back and make out.”

She laughed. “You had making out in your time?”

He smirked. “Back in the day, we just called it getting friendly.”

“Ah. I thought it was necking.” She said, pretending to having just figured it out. “See, in my time, it was called making out.”

“Fuck you.” He kissed her and began to stand up. But she pretended to whine so he stayed where he was, grinning as she tightened her arms around him. Holding her, he whispered, “Yeah. This works too.”

Breathing in his smell, she whispered, “I love you.”

Jaime’s response was to kiss her some more. She raised her head to look up at him. “I love you not because you want to do this or because you want to make out like teenagers. I love you for no other reason than for you being you. All of you.” She kissed him on the chest, his flour-covered hand. “Even the parts you don’t like so much.”

“Someday,” he said after a few moments of quiet, “I hope I’ll see what you see.”

“You should. I see a man unlike no one I know. Perhaps not perfect but the best.”

He bent his neck to press his forehead to hers. “Brienne?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you back.”

More kisses and tight, long embraces followed before Jaime had to return to the kitchen. Brienne stared after him as the door closed. Their argument could have them walking on eggshells around each other. Instead, by mutual though unspoken agreement, they decided to affirm their commitment to each other even more. It was a relationship milestone Brienne felt she’d never reached with anyone, even with Renly.

As happy as she was, she crashed back to earth upon reading the last letter in the pile. It was a notification from the landlord. There was going to be an increase in the rent in the new year. She glared at the ceiling and threw up her hands. _The Seven fuck my ass, damn it._

Feeling a headache coming on, she let herself out of the office and into the kitchen. Under Jaime’s watchful eye and instructions, the staff were working on regular items and also perfecting a new pastry, the mille feuille type, triangular, raspberry-jam filled creation topped with coconut shavings he’d made for her a couple of mornings ago. A name for it had yet to be decided. Jaime wanted it to have the word ‘pussy.’ Brienne reminded him about giving him Maiden’s Nipples already so unless he was happy to never see her naked again, pussy was never going to be in the name of any food from The Sapphire Patisserie.

One of the changes she’d introduced since partnering with Jaime was the inclusion of a duty meal for all employees. Standing and working in the kitchen for hours was hard, demanding work, coupled with a boss who expected nothing less than perfection. Duty meal was often a pasta dish, like mac and cheese, spaghetti with Bolognese or pizza made from scratch. Sometimes, there was beef stew, which was everyone’s favorite but it took a few hours to make, not to mention labor intensive.

Brienne looked in the pot and found enough pasta to last a couple of servings, and also chunky tomato sauce. After putting sauce on the pasta, she piled it with fresh basil and parmesan cheese.

She was eating in the corner when Jaime joined her. He took a bite of the bread from her plate. “You’re only having lunch now? Wench, it’s almost four.”

“Have you had lunch?” She asked, holding out a fork laden with the pasta. As he took a bite, she said, “Well, there you go.”

“I’m on my feet and going around.” He replied while chewing. “Ellaria’s coming over soon. I hope she likes the cake designs I came up with. And the flavors. Hold on,” he said, grinning as his eyes dropped to her lips. “Sauce.”

“Oh gods,” she whispered as he licked it off. She was blushing by the time he pulled away. She looked past his shoulder, but no one saw. Every employee was deep in the task of kneading dough, frosting cupcakes or putting or pulling out fresh pastries from the ovens. _“I can’t believe you.”_

His grin arrowed right into her heart. “Wanna sit in with my meeting with Ellaria?”

“Sounds like a lot more fun than writing checks,” she said with a sigh. “But I have to pass.”

He kissed her and went back to work. She finished eating not too long after that and washed her plate and utensils in the sink before returning to the office. She pulled out the cheque book and began to work.

******  
Years ago, Jaime would be more cocksure when presenting an original to a client. He had no problem with the usual pastries. For concoctions that challenged him, he had become a lot less sure. Sleeping your way to an award fucked you up, for one. Another was when you willingly used and paid with your body.

There was none of that with Brienne. There was still work he had to do, however, and much of it he’ll have to do on his own, for himself.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Ellaria nodded enthusiastically. She licked the fork clean of the frosting, her brown eyes bright with pleasure. “This is incredible. Chocolate cherry, right?”

“Yes.” He forced himself to smile to hide his anxiety.

“Just fucking amazing,” Ellaria marveled, forking off another sliver from the sample. “And I love how there are bits of cherry too.”

“Thanks. As much as possible, I avoid extract. If I must, I make it myself. Store-bought extract can be too sweet and overpower everything else.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know that. But again, fucking amazing.” Ellaria lowered her fork. “Okay. Tell me about this one.”

“This one’s strawberry vanilla,” Jaime told her.

“And whatever the flavor I choose, you can do one of the looks you showed me?” Ellaria asked, taking a piece off the cake.

“No problem. If you want something a little edgy, the chocolate ganache works. Chocolate cherry if you want something unexpected and then you have strawberry vanilla for something more traditional.”

“The ganache is great—actually, it’s a tough choice and it’s like having to choose a favorite child,” Ellaria said, laughing. “But I know Oberyn isn’t a fan of flavors and textures that are on the rich side. So, as much as it breaks my heart, the ganache is out.” She really looked dejected shaking her head at the eaten off sample.

“It will survive,” Jaime assured her.

“It’s a toss-up between the chocolate cherry and strawberry vanilla. And the cake itself—Jaime, you know your stuff. To say the least. I’ve never had anything so moist yet also fluffy. You know how cakes can get dense and it’s like you’re munching through a rug or carpet?”

She probably meant nothing by it but a visual of Brienne’s wet, thick bush came to mind. He cleared his throat, glad that the shelf display between them hid his arousal.

“I guess that’s an apt description,” was all he could say. Still, he couldn’t shake off the visual of her pussy. The inner flesh was the color of ripe strawberries. She was never without the sexy, intimate musk of her pussy but his tongue had detected a subtle sweetness too. Rich and fresh. Like strawberries and cream.

“There’s nothing like that with your cakes. This is cake you never thought possible. This is a fucking masterpiece.” Ellaria declared, getting another piece off the slice.

“Come on,” he had to say, feeling his ears burn.

“I’m serious. You know what, I want both. Yeah,” Ellaria said, nodding vigorously at Jaime’s disbelieving expression. “They’re great and I like the designs you came up with. Dick and tit cake. You _are_ a genius.”

“Are you sure about both?” Jaime wanted to kick himself for asking the question.

“Of course! I can pay the deposit now for them. I’m telling you, I don’t want to choose between them. They’re both great.”

“Well. . .thanks. Thank you,” he said more firmly. “I’m glad, Ellaria. I promise these would be the best cakes you and Oberyn ever had.”

“It already is!” She assured him with a laugh.

After paying, Jaime saw her to the door. Ellaria surprised him with a hug and a sound kiss on the cheek. “Tell Brienne I’m sorry I missed her. Is she out?”

“No. She’s doing the bills now. She would have wanted to join us, believe me.”

“I don’t want her disturbed anyway. Oh, and remind her she’s not gonna chicken her way out of the theme or I’ll kick her ass. I don’t care she’s more than a foot taller than me. I’ll do it. Tell her that, you hear?”

Jaime walked back into the shop feeling like he’d been hit on the head. He knew he was walking on the floor but he couldn’t feel it under his feet. He nodded at the other bakers putting a fresh batch of pastries in the baskets and glass display, and woodenly directed a couple of customers to them.

Somehow, he made it to the kitchen. Floated to it, it felt. Edd went to him, saying something about needing his approval for the pasty he’d made. Jaime looked at the plate, recognizing the delicate, triangle pastry filled with raspberry jam and crowned with coconut shavings. Realizing he was expected to taste it, he picked up one piece and took a bite.

“The pastry is a little tough,” he told Edd. “It’s flaky. You got that right. But it shouldn’t be tough or very chewy at all. Do it again.”

Rather than chucking the pastry in the trash and spitting in disgust, as he usually did, Jaime just returned it to the plate and walked away. He didn’t see Edd staring after him in confusion.

He went to the office, finding Brienne immersed in paperwork. “Hey,” she greeted him. He managed a small but unsteady smile. But she was quick to catch on that something was off with him. “Oh no. What’s the matter? You’re all flushed.”

It was almost comical how she quickly pushed her chair back, nearly toppling it. Tongue clucking in concern, she went to him. Twin lines formed between her eyebrows while pressing the back of her hand on his forehead, his neck. As his dilated gaze slowly focused on her pale, messy hair, bright blue eyes and the constellation of freckles scattered on her face, she tucked locks of his hair behind the ears.

“You’re not feverish, so that’s good. Can you breathe okay?” She put her hand on his heart next.

“Ellaria ordered two different cakes from me. The penis and the tits,” he said, liking the weight of her hand. Too bad he had a shirt on. He took a deep breath. There it was. The plume of oxygen drifting down his lungs. No wonder Brienne asked if he was breathing fine. He had fucking stopped.

“Fabulous. I told you she’ll like both. It’s great, right? She picked two. You can do both?”

She looked genuinely pleased, even proud. He looked at her, knowing he was about to destroy a good moment. But for his own peace of mind, he had to do it.

“Did you. . .look, I need to know, wench. And we swore to each other no more secrets. But did you, I don’t know. . . “ Jaime glanced at her hand. It was still on his chest, caressing him gently. “Did you encourage her?”

“Encourage her to do what?”

“To order. She could have gone to any bakery or pastry shop and she came here.”

Brienne frowned and put her hands on her hips. “What are you saying exactly?”

“I’m sorry but I need to know. I don’t want you throwing business my way when I haven’t earned it.”

“Fucking hell, Jaime! You are not— _I can not believe_ —Seriously—what—” Brienne was so angry she could only sputter. Her eyes stabbed right into him. “Are you accusing me of _telling_ Ellaria to order from you?”

“Well, why not? You’ve taken it upon yourself to save the shop, Brienne. Save me. And if that’s how it went I’d rather pass on the job. I’m trying to be a better man. I can’t have you always swooping in to feed my fucking ego.”

“You’re an asshole! Of course I didn’t! And _fuck you_ for thinking I did!”

As her face twisted from hurt, Jaime hung his head. Oh, fucking hell. He’d really done it now. Gripping his head in both hands before pushing fingers through his hair, he groaned, “Fuck. Brienne. I’m sorry.”

She was red. Nostrils flared from every sharp intake of breath. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug her. “I’m so, so, sorry. I didn’t—I don’t know what came over me.”

It was the truth. Brienne continued to stare at him, her eyes shining brighter every passing second. If she cried Jaime knew he’d go to pieces too. Hugging herself, she asked, “Have you really stopped believing in yourself?”

He sighed, pulling out one of the chairs then collapsing heavily on it. The hurt on Brienne’s face was not going to vanish anytime soon. She glowered at him too. As she should. He’d be the same if he were in her shoes.

“It’s been a fucking long time I’ve accomplished anything without. . .without doing—” Another long sigh was dragged from him. “You know.”

“I can understand that,” she said, after a moment. The stiff stance of her body softened. “But you said you love me. How can you think I’m in any way like those people if you really love me?”

Horrified, he shot to his feet and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Brienne, no. I’m really sorry. Fuck. Never doubt how I feel for you. I love you.”

“It’s alright if you’re not there yet,” she said, the crack in her voice indicating it was far from alright. Flushing, she lowered her head. “But I do love you. And if you care for me that way, I’d rather you say when you know, really know. Love is not a favor.”

“I don’t love you because I owe you, damn it. I love you. True, I’ve been shit showing it just now but I do. I really do.” He cupped her by the cheek, imploring her to look at him. When she did, he pleaded, “Believe that, wench. I’m sorry for what happened.”

He wanted to kiss her. Every cell in his body demanded it. But that one kiss could easily become a dozen, a hundred. And he was going to want more. She would never refuse him. He was hard and shaking from arousal and the need to watch love replace the pain in her eyes. They were going to feel good afterwards. He was so sure.

But it wasn’t the best thing to do now.

“You have to start believing in yourself, Jaime,” she whispered. “No matter how much I believe in you, it’s pointless if you do nothing for yourself.”

“I know. I’m trying. I really am.”

“Try harder. Please,” she begged. “You got the commission because of your vision and talent. Not because I told Ellaria or she was doing either of us a favor. It was all you.”

She moved closer until she could lean her forehead on his. “Oh, Jaime. It really fucked you up, didn’t it? All the dealings you had?”

“It won’t happen again.” All it took was one look at the pain in her face to make him almost sick to the stomach. Looking in her eyes, he whispered, “I really do love you. I said it not because you told me you love me. You’re here.”

He pressed her hand on his heart. She looked at their joined hands.

_“Jaime.”_

Then she threw her arms around him.

******

While waiting for Jaime to pick her up that night, Brienne got busy doing some minor clean-up. She transferred clothes in the hamper to the laundry bag for the weekend’s wash. It was a combination of her shirts and Jaime’s, his pants and hers, underwear and socks.

From the smaller, spare room in the apartment, she pulled out Selwyn’s olive green leather armchair. Except for his photos, mementoes and the chair, everything she had not been able to sell or donate to charity went into storage. She hoped renting the space for it didn’t go long because it was another expense she could really do without. But the people who had expressed interest in the furniture wanted her to take charge of delivery too, which was next to impossible. On that account, they passed.

She liked furniture built for comfort and wear, rather than show pieces. The armchair, despite its elegant, old world appearance, fit right in the modern set-up. She was looking at it, remembering how Selwyn’s big form sank on it, causing it to squeak but never crack under his weight, when she heard the jangle of keys from outside her door.

“Jaime?” She called out.

“Yeah,” he answered.

She hurried to the door to open it.

Despite their earlier fight, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling, nor from looking at him with want. He looked at her the same way.

He wore a vintage, bomber flight jacket in leather, with thick fleece lining. Underneath was a deep navy sweater and white a collared shirt. Dark jeans and thick-soled Chelsea boots finished the look. He looked rugged and elegant at the same time. Coupled with the warmth of his emerald eyes and dimpled smile, he was a winter woodsman fantasy who was right at home in the urban jungle.

“Hi,” she said, blushing as he kissed her on the cheek. He put something in her hands—a pie dish. She laughed. Most men gave flowers. Jaime, she discovered while lifting the lid, brought her chocolate cream pie. “I suppose this is for later?”

“That’s the hope,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck and kissing her. She kissed him back, wishing they didn’t have the dish between them or that they didn’t have to be elsewhere. He chuckled as she reluctantly pulled away to put the dessert in the fridge. He watched her bend over. The denim stretched taut across her buttocks. “You look great.”

Because they were off to the movie and dinner at a casual dining place, Brienne was also wearing jeans and boots. She wore a cashmere sweater in cerulean blue and had put rhinestone stud earrings on her ears. She thought she could dress up a bit more, but Jaime had that hungry look that seemed to be only for her. Her cheeks warmed and she bowed her head while getting her bag. “Thanks.”

He helped her into her coat, led her out of the door first then locked up after them. They walked to the train station, holding on to each other because of the slick, icy ground no amount of shoveling could fix. As they waited on the platform for their train, Jaime put his head on her shoulder.

Though there were many vacant spots in the train, they opted to stand. Jaime teased Brienne because her head almost brushed the ceiling. Through the fifteen-minute journey, she held him around the waist. He kept his lips on her neck, kissing or nuzzling her. By the time they reached their stop, her face was bright crimson, attracting curious stares from several passengers. Jaime’s big, dimpled smile broadcast to the world he was solely responsible for her dazzled stare and blushing cheeks.

As expected, there was hardly a line for _Kingdom: Broken Dragon._ While Brienne lined up for the tickets, Jaime went to the snack stand. She burst out laughing when he returned with two giant cups of sodas, a large tub of butter-drenched popcorn, packs of gummy bears and dragons, dark chocolate raisins. He beamed like an excited little boy let loose in the candy shop.

“Seven, did you leave anything else for people to buy?” She joked, kissing him on the lips while relieving him of some of the snacks.

“I’m not too sure,” he answered, pretending to look behind him. “I wasn’t too sure what you’d like and I want this night to be better than our first date.”

“If it helps, we can count this as our first date?”

He looked relieved. “Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah,” she assured him. “And I’m already having a good time. Especially. . .” she made a show of pocketing the entire pack of gummy bears. “If you’ll let me have all the red gummies. I don’t care for the other flavors.”

“Red gummy bears for this to be our first date ever.” Jaime mused. “A fair bargain.”

“Oh, great. I was about to say you can put your hand under my shirt but if you’re happy with that, alright.”

 _“What?”_ Jaime growled as she walked away from him, taking a dainty sip of soda. She looked at him over her shoulder, batting her eyelashes at him awkwardly.

“We’ve already made our vows, ser,” she said coyly. He shook his head and grabbed her from behind.

“You make it very hard for me to not put a hand under your shirt,” he whispered, rubbing himself against her ship. She blushed feeling the familiar hardness of his cock against her then swatted him playfully on the arm.

Except for a few patrons scattered throughout the cinema, it was basically empty. Jaime pulled her behind him as he navigated the aisles then the row to their seat. Brienne looked around as they sat down. They had the entire row to themselves.

Jaime flipped up the armrest between them, putting the popcorn between his legs. Brienne smiled as he put an arm around her shoulders. As she relaxed, she whispered, “Tell me the truth. Have you made out in the movies before?”

“I may have. But I’m a little rusty.” He confessed. As the cinema darkened, she caught the sparkle in his eyes.

“I never have,” she told him.

“Don’t fuck with me, wench.”

“I’m not. Can you really make out for the entire movie? This one’s over two hours.”

“It’s off and on, actually. But with you. . .I don’t think I can stop.”

She giggled. As the first few minutes of the movie rolled, he brushed his lips on hers. Gentler than any kiss he’d given her, it took her some fumbling to match the rhythm he set. His lips were firm, but his mouth was so, so warm. And soft. His tongue thrust slowly yet seductively in her mouth, sending her into a hot tailspin of desire and lust.

Moaning softly through the loud metallic clash of swords, shield, the wet sound of flesh and blood squirting from the screen, she leaned on Jaime. The zipper his jacket rubbed and dragged at her nipples through her coat, dragging another moan from her. Her hand, resting on his chest, drifted low on his stomach. The wool of his sweater was a contrast to the wonderful, hard slabs of his abdominal muscles. As he groaned in pleasure from her touch, she lowered her hand—right into the tub of popcorn.

“Damn it,” he swore, catching the tub just before it overturned and spilled a bigger mess on the floor. She cursed against his neck, her face burning despite the chilly theater.

“Shit, Jaime. I’m so sorry.”

He chuckled and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t worry about it. I forgot that when I was a teenager I could barely afford popcorn.” He took her hand, sending her close to sweet death as he slowly licked the grease and salt from her palm and fingers. The flashing lights revealed her face reddening at every swipe of his tongue.

“I guess we’ll have to make out later,” she whispered, leaning back on her seat. She smiled softly as he kissed her some more.

“Next time we’re ditching the popcorn.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They held hands watching the rest of the movie. It didn’t take long for both to realize that discovering each other’s movie habits was more interesting than the nonsensical plot and wooden delivery of the actors. Jaime, Brienne found out, slurped loudly through the straw. And he was a big licker—she should have realized that earlier, given that he liked to mouth and lick her body during sex. She changed her mind about getting more popcorn when the lights from the screen showed him licking the butter off his fingers with gusto before scooping the next handful.

Jaime couldn’t help rolling his eyes every time she held up a gummy bear against the light to make sure she was only eating the red ones. The same went for the gummy dragons. It was on the tip of his tongue to retort that no one had died eating the orange-colored ones when she groaned and muttered about her knee getting stiff.

Despite these little ruptures, she nearly fell off her seat when he suddenly put his lips to her ear. “Wanna get out of here?”

She nodded first. Remembered it was dark then whispered, “Yes. Please.”

They strolled arm in arm out of the theater. They had only gone a few meters out of the building when Jaime suddenly winked and dragged Brienne behind an alley. She stumbled after him, holding tightly on his hand while her boots skidded across the icy ground. He dragged her far enough until they had some quiet, the faint lights from the windows of apartments replacing the glimmer of stars in the sky.

“What are you doing?” She gasped, white puffs of air leaving her mouth. Jaime just smiled at her. Her heart thundered in her chest. Her body was _alive_ with anticipation of what might happen, but everything was still all too surreal for her. She blushed as he swept her coat open, hands skimming the sides of her waist before raising her sweater and tank top.

She groaned, clutching his head to her tits as he suckled a nipple. A hand squeezed the other breast, fingers and the cold teasing the nipple to a hardness that drew a sharp squeak from her throat. As he licked and feasted wetly, loudly, on her nipples, he started unbuckling her belt. Pushed her jeans and panties to her ankles. “Jaime,” she wailed, pulling at his hair as a shaft of winter air stirred the hairs of her cunt. The brick wall behind her seemed a wall of ice on her ass.

She had to bite her lip to keep from screaming when his tongue plundered her cunt. With nothing to hold on to, she clawed at the wall as he pressed his face into the juncture of dirty-blond curls between her thighs, lips slurping loudly on her clitoris before tonguing her again.

The noise of the city drowned out her throaty little cries of pleasure.

Slapping a hand over her mouth, she trembled violently against his mouth upon her release. He groaned against her sodden flesh, breathing harshly before his tongue dived in again to collect the juices dripping from her. He cursed in frustration trying to widen her legs but hampered by her jeans. Then his fingers spread her labia open. This time she screamed as the needle-sharp bristles of his beard scraped the slick, inner skin of her cunt. Her hips bucked against him instinctively but the stubborn latch of his lips on her clit, coupled with sharp, merciless draws, drained the little strength remaining in her.

She would have sagged and fallen to the ground had he not straightened up just in time to catch her around the waist. Lips and beard dark and slick from her, he growled against her mouth, _“Touch me.”_

She blushed through the rough, wet kiss. He tasted of her. His tongue slick and thick with her. As she sucked his tongue for her share of her taste, she worked on his belt and jeans. Her fingers quickly wrapped around the stiff pillar of his cock. The head was warm, moist. Dripping. A few strokes had him shuddering against her next. His tongue fucking her in the throat, he spilled semen all over her cunt and thighs.

They clung to each other, bleary eyes burning into green and blue. He kissed her gently on the lips, hands cupping her ass. Her hand was still on his softened cock. Her thumb urged the foreskin up to caress the moist, sticky head.

“I thought I was only in for some necking until we get home,” she whispered, giving him a drunken smile before pressing her face on his shoulder. Her wet thighs brushed against his hairy ones.

“You got what happens after, where I can’t fucking control myself around you,” he joked, holding her. He rubbed her back, her ass.

She still wasn’t too steady on her feet, so he pulled up her panties and jeans. She was slick and sticky from her own release and his semen. “Do you-you wouldn’t happen to have a handkerchief or something, would you?”

“No.” He smiled at her as he pulled up his clothes next. “Don’t you like being wet with me?”

She blushed, trying to discreetly pull at her underwear clinging to her. “I do. But it’s not exactly warm out here.”

“Are you telling me as long as we’re somewhere warm you’d be happy to have my semen in you, wench? To stay wet?”

“Perv,” she whispered, unable to stop the smile on her face as he hugged her around the waist. “You’re a fucking animal, Jaime.”

“Proud of it, wench,” he whispered back.

They left the alley hand in hand, each wearing soft, satisfied smiles. Then she pulled his arm to drape it around her shoulders. She wove her fingers through his hand and walked on air for the rest of the night.

*******

Tongue-fucking Brienne in the alley and coming all over her thighs should have satisfied Jaime until they got home. But sitting across from her in a noisy, busy restaurant, watching her devour lobster, crabs and shrimp, Jaime’s jeans were uncomfortably hot and tight. Again.

She took a long pull of beer. Jaime tried not to stare, lest he come in his jeans.

She hadn’t bothered to duck in the ladies’ upon arrival so her hair was still windblown from their walk. Her cheeks were so red, and so bright, her face was a beacon that rivalled the harsh fluorescent light of the casual dining place he had brought her to. It did not have the soft, piano music of The Golden Rose, and its servers were in black t-shirts rather than starched suits and bow ties. Yet it was clear Brienne was enjoying herself more here. She smiled more too.

“Good?” He asked grinning. There was food smeared on the corner of her lip and her cheek. She lowered the beer, nodding enthusiastically. She wiped the back of her hand on her mouth. It was cute how messy she was.

“It’s fantastic,” she replied.

“Wait a sec.” He reached across, swiped a thumb on the smear until it was clear before sucking his thumb clean. She turned a sweet, sexy shade of pink watching him. “You’re right. It’s fantastic.”

Kraken House served the best seafood in the city. Far from the elegant, austere atmosphere of The Golden Rose, its menu came with colorful drawings of lobsters, prawns, crabs and fish. The specials were written on a large blackboard in colorful chalk. A lively zydeco band played onstage. Diners wore large plastic bibs.

He grinned as Brienne used a crab cracker to get to the delicious meat of the crab legs. When the shell yielded, she quickly plucked off the succulent white meat and resumed eating.

“How come I’ve never heard of this place before?” Brienne asked him, licking her fingers.

“This doesn’t seem the place for fancy types like yourself,” he teased, grabbing her hand. His eyes twinkled as she blushed violently when he licked and sucked her fingers.

“I’m not _that_ fancy. I only ever went out with Renly and he liked set menus and hushed conversation. Ellaria and Oberyn aren’t big on eating out. When they do go out it’s to check out the newest merchandise at their favorite sex shop. Or visit a new adult store. I hardly go out by myself.”

“But you’re cooped up all day in your old job.” As soon as he said that, he winced. Brienne was still bothered about the absence of any callbacks or interview requests. She saw him squirm and reached out to squeeze his hand reassuringly.

“It’s alright. We can talk about it.”

“This is supposed to be the awesome first date.” 

“What makes you think it isn’t? And no, mine wasn’t strictly a desk job. I had meetings, of course, and there was paperwork but I was more often in a studio or on location shoot. At the end of the day, I was more than happy to be home and sleep. You don’t seem to be the sort who’s ever, you know, on a break.”

“What are you talking about?” He asked, feeling defensive. “I know how to relax.”

She laughed and patted his hand. “Jaime, I’m not making fun. I just noticed that for someone who’s on his feet all day cooking and directing what goes on in the kitchen, at home it’s still what you mainly do.”

He shrugged before wrapping his lips around her middle finger. “Maybe. But I don’t make anything time-consuming like, tomato sauce from scratch,” he said, pointedly, smirking at her fondly. “I enjoy cooking. What can I say?”

“I’m glad.” She looked at their joined hands. He continued to smile as a lock of pale hair fell toward her eyes before a gentle toss of her head flicked it back. “ Don’t let anything change that, okay?”

She was the only person who understood what cooking meant to him. The darkest days were behind him—them, he hoped. Anyone else might press him to do some other line of work. He wasn’t poisoned against cooking. What made him bitter and still so unsure in many ways was the things he’d done to ensure he kept the business. That he was still the Jaime Lannister that could make sugar and everything nice bend to his culinary will.

“I won’t,” he promised.

She gave him a soft, close-lipped smile. “There’s something different about you when you cook.”

“Sexier?” He smirked, eager for the opportunity to lighten the mood. “I make you wet faster, I hope?”

Another laugh, this time accompanied by a vivid blush. “Will you stop thinking about fucking for a second?”

“That’s like asking me not to breathe, wench. Can’t help it around you.”

“You look at peace when you’re cooking.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Like dead?”

“No! What I mean is you look. . .you look content. And sure. What you want meeting with what you’re supposed to do. You look happy. I do wish you’d go easy on the staff with your language but it’s part of the fun for you, isn’t it?”

“I suppose. Not that I take a lot of pleasure in berating anyone. But it is important that everyone does as well a job as I do. If you can’t meet my standards you have no place in my kitchen. So. You think I look content? Happy?”

“That’s what I see. Like, it’s your life’s work. It’s what you put your heart and soul into without question. That’s what I admire about you so much. Beyond your talent is this intense dedication. The willingness to work the hardest.”

“Wench, you always know how to make me weak in the knees.”

“I was hoping to make your head spin.”

“That’s your mouth. Around my cock.”

At the exact moment he spoke, a server came by to refill their water. Brienne gasped, quickly snatching her hand from Jaime, who just smiled innocently at the employee. It was clear the other guy was trying not to laugh. After pouring, he cleared his throat and asked with a straight face, “Is there anything I can get for you?”

“Just the check,” Jaime answered. “Thanks.”

“You’re going to have to shut your mouth sometimes,” Brienne admonished after the server left. Her hands framed her tomato-red face. “Jaime, I can’t believe you said that.”

He laughed. “It’s not my fault he appeared at that exact moment.”

“Still!”

Under the table, he playfully nudged at her foot. Her eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets and she sat back sharply. “ _Don’t!_ No footsie!”

“Aw, come on. You let me put my tongue in your pussy in the alley, but you refuse footsie?”

Once again, the server who brought their water returned to the table as Jaime was saying those very words. As Brienne clapped her hands to her face, Jaime smiled again at the staff. “Hey there.”

The staff, biting his lip, nodded. “Sir.”

Jaime pulled out a few bills from his wallet and handed the little tray containing the check to the server. Then they were left alone again. Peeking from the between her fingers, Brienne squeaked, “Is he gone?”

“You are so easy and so fucking fun to embarrass,” he told her as she lowered her hands.

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t know until you pointed it out,” she retorted. Though annoyed, she just shot him an exasperated look. “You are just fucking impossible. You should have been spanked as a child.”

He had to bite his lip from making a retort while her eyes flashed challengingly. The server returned with the change. When another table called the staff, Jaime and Brienne stood up. He left a ten-dragon tip.

Brienne insisted on going to the ladies’ before they left. Jaime visited the gents’ while she did her business. Washing his hands after peeing, he checked himself in the mirror.

Bad movie aside, this first date reboot was going better than he’d hoped. It had been ages since he’d gone on actual date, let alone been with anyone so fucking fascinating and exciting. _And sexy._ Brienne with her bulky sweater and jeans was a thousand times sexier than any woman in a slinky dress with tits out to there.

Brienne was waiting for him outside. She had her back turned to him, but he recognized that pile of messy pale hair anywhere, and her broad shoulders. He wrapped an arm around her waist from behind, rubbing his lips on her neck. She smelled like the Maiden had bathed her in herbs.

She groaned and turned, throwing her arms around him as she swooped in for a kiss. Despite having consumed shellfish in the last hour, her breath was warm and sweet. She tasted saltier than usual but no less delicious. Gods above, his wench. She burned hot and hotter and often without meaning to. He growled against her tongue, clutching at her lest he stagger some more and lose his balance.

It was Brienne who ended the kiss. She blinked at him, her eyes silvery and brighter than the lights around them and the stars in the sky. Her mouth looked like a crushed, swollen red rose. Her deer-in-the-headlights gaze and thoroughly kissed expression aroused all that was male and animal in him. He sighed and dropped his head on her shoulder, panting. Her heart was racing against his chest too.

If not for common decency he’d fuck her right in the street. Technically he’d done that but at least there was some privacy in the alleys. He hoped so. It never occurred to him to check for CCTV cameras or anyone watching them.

“How much do you want me to fuck you now, wench?” He whispered as she caressed his hair. It was cold but he was beginning to sweat under his clothes watching her lick her lips. His cock jerked in his jeans. She blushed upon feeling it against her thigh.

Looking dreamily at him, she sighed and murmured, “Did you forget? I always want you in me.”

He sniffed, catching the familiar musk of her arousal. His hand itched for the warmth between her thighs. Instead, he caressed her cheek. Flushed, the pale surface showed the splotches and streaks that made up the crimson of her blush. “Do you?”

“Always.”

He couldn’t resist stealing another kiss from her big mouth. “I just realized,” he whispered, “that you remind me of something.”

“What?”

“Let me show you.” He reluctantly let go and took her hand. She started to signal for a cab, but he shook his head.

She looked disappointed. “We’re not going home yet?”

“Just a quick stop,” he promised.

Holding hands, he steered her to a gourmet deli and supermarket just down the block. He smiled at her while getting a plastic carton of strawberries, took her by the hand again down a few aisles for cream. After buying them, they were back in the street. He held the little shopping bag while Brienne hailed a cab. One quickly pulled up.

Soon after murmuring her address to the driver, Brienne pounced on Jaime. He caught her in his arms, parting his mouth as her tongue swooped in. Seven hells. Often she was slow, sweet fire. One that had to be stoked for ages before she flared in a sensuous burst of woman and lust. Now she seemed like wildfire. Hot on his mouth. All over his body. Consuming him by kiss and touch.

And gods he wanted her to eat him alive.

Brienne unabashed and eager was breathtaking and so fucking irresistible. Jaime didn’t care that their filthy, slobbery kisses were loud and obscene. A few times the cab driver cleared his throat to get their attention but he was ignored.

Jaime groaned as Brienne sucked his tongue with the fury of a thousand maidens. She had unzipped his jeans, pushed her hand in the vee to play with his cock. His heart thundered in his ears hearing the sticky slosh of his foreskin rubbed back and forth on his cock while her thumb caressed the sensitive flesh of the latter. It was electric. Blue-white fire making him lurch and grunt her name. Grab her face.

“I love you I love you I love you,” she chanted breathlessly between thrusts of his tongue. _Gods._ He didn’t deserve heaven like this. But he was still taking it. Taking everything. He tugged on her hair, enjoying her throaty little cry of protest. He cupped her by the chin. Thumbed her wet lips.

“Tell me you want my cock,” he whispered against her lips. He cast a sidelong glance at the driver to check if he was listening. He didn’t seem to be.

She quivered deliciously. _“Please.”_

Then she was on him. Warm lips claiming his cock. Sucking him harshly into the wet cavern of her mouth. Fighting to keep his eyes open, he clung to the railing on his side of the seat. Teeth clamped hard on his lips to silence the groans and cries of pleasure from her eager, unschooled licks and slurps. _The Warrior fuck the Maiden fuck the Stranger._ His other hand fisted her thin hair as he pumped against her face.

He almost shouted a prayer when the cab turned to her block just as he blasted in her mouth. There was no stopping his groan—purposely loud to hide her gagging sound before she resumed draining him dry.

She raised her head, showing him messy hair, cloudy blue eyes and semen around her chin just before the driver pulled up in front the building. Jaime grinned at her before taking out his wallet. He paid twenty.

“This is too much,” the driver protested. “This is more than double.”

“Keep it,” Jaime muttered, hoping he didn’t fall flat on his face due to his useless legs. Brienne smoothly exited the car, taking the bag with her. She had to open the door for him, a playful smile on her lips. He chuckled and let her pull him out. He caught his jeans right before they fell. As she laughed and looked away, he zipped up and buckled his belt.

“Oh gods,” she gasped, turning back to him. He was disappointed she had wiped her face clean. Her eyes sparkled as a snort preceded her guffaw. “I can’t believe we did _that_!”

“Took a cab?” he said innocently.

She laughed louder. He chuckled, pulling her in his arms. Kissing her softly, he murmured, “Wench, hands down, this is the best date ever.”

“I think so too,” she said, bopping her nose gently at him.

With her in his arms, he felt like he could conquer the world. Hells. Knew he was going to conquer the world. Rule over the Westeros and beyond. Kingslayer. Sugarslayer. He never felt as alive outside of Brienne’s arms. Though it was nighttime, his heart seemed lit by the sun. Lit and singing.

Taking her face in his hands, he looked into sapphire eyes that belonged nowhere else but on a plain, freckled face that had become the dearest sight to him within a short span of time. He smoothed a tendril of hair from her cheek. Under the light of the stars, it was moonwashed rather than straw-colored.

She breathed. A white puff of air left her lips. But he felt warm.

“I love you so fucking much, Brienne Tarth.”

*******  
Though still coming down from the high of their taxi interlude, the kisses they exchanged staggering and tripping up the stairs to Brienne’s apartment were no less heated. She tried getting Jaime to stop so she could breathe, but her fingers wouldn’t relax their grip on his shoulders. Nor would she release his lips. It was memory that brought them to her front door.

Pressed against the wooden frame by his body and mouth, Brienne was trapped. The carvings designed on the door poked at her skull and spine. Jaime’s cock repeatedly jabbed at her thigh every time they kissed. Gasping, she finally managed to push him away from her. She stared into his squinty, love-drunk green eyes. “I _can’t_ believe you’re hard again!”

He smirked and glanced proudly at his erection. His jeans fitted close to his thighs and there was no mistaking the bulge between them. He leered at her playfully and right there, in the hallway of her apartment where anyone could see them at any moment, he pushed her coat open and started unzipping her jeans. She squawked and slapped his hands.

“We are _not_ ,” she grunted, trying to sound stern, “fucking here!”

He rolled his eyes. “Then shut the fuck up and open the door. I want to fuck you.”

Her hands shook taking out the keys to unlock the door. And he was most helpful pressing himself against her, sucking on the tip of her ear and hands sliding under her clothes. As soon as the door opened, they stumbled in the dark. One of them must have tripped on the rug or something because they were suddenly on the floor.

Jaime was fast. Brienne gasped as he yanked her jeans to her ankles, then ducked under them to slide his body between her legs. She could only listen to the rustle of his clothes, the soft purr of the zipper as he undid his jeans. Then he was on top of her. Inside her. Tongue in her mouth. Cock stretching her cunt. Through her half-closed eyes, she saw that the door to her apartment was still ajar.

She didn’t care. She sucked on his tongue and spread her trapped legs as wide as possible. Only Jaime mattered.

A while later, she stirred awake and sat up. She had fallen asleep by the fireplace, where gold, crimson-tinged flames ate up the wood. She was naked under the thick, heavy blanket. Though the rest of the apartment was still dark, there was light from the fire and other lamps. She craned her head to look past the sofa to see the kitchen lit too, and Jaime walking around the counter holding a bowl.

“Good. You’re awake,” he said, smiling at her. His golden hair was mussed and was flat on one side due to having slept on it. She couldn’t help but giggle at the rug pattern on his cheek. He was wearing her sweater and his jeans, zipped up but with the button and belt undone.

“I am, but my ass isn’t,” she remarked, shifting to lie on her stomach. She hugged one of the throw pillows on the floor. She watched him put the bowl on the coffee table before shucking off the jeans then the sweater. A smile split across her face once he was naked.

Awashed in the golden light from the fireplace, she saw the little hickeys around his neck and chest. His elbows and knees were pink from rub burns. Though at rest, his cock hung long and thick. She blushed feeling her cunt swell under the blanket. She squeezed her thighs together, blushing even more upon discovering they were still slick with semen.

“Want me to spank it back to life for you?” He teased, picking up the bowl and rejoining her under the blanket. The brief exposure of her nipples caused them to peak quite painfully. She didn’t have to check how swollen they were. She could still _feel_ his greedy, rough suckles.

Her asshole, she realized, felt tender. Blushing, she shook her head. “You kind of told me the same thing earlier. Except you did it with cock. What’s in the bowl?”

“Ah.” He put it between them. She smiled. Trust Jaime to make even the simplest dessert look like a masterpiece. The chilled cream had given it the firmness needed so he could coax it into the swirls and curves he liked. The strawberries gleamed redder from moisture. Carefully placed chocolate shavings decorated the dessert. “Take one.”

She plucked a plump fruit, making sure to swirl it in cream before taking a bite. Cool, sweet fruity freshness coupled with the silkiness of cream and the chocolate exploded in her mouth. As she chewed, he leaned in, kissing her on the lips before licking the cream from her. She blushed as he pulled away, tasting the cream stolen from her lips.

“Incredible,” he declared softly.

“It’s delicious.”

“Now you know why I like keeping my tongue in your pussy,” he said nonchalantly, making her cough and almost choke in surprise.

_“What?”_

A dimple flashed as he reached into the bowl for a strawberry. Taking a bite, he said, “You taste exactly like a wench. Wet, womanly, can’t get enough of cock, and strawberries and cream. Do you think I can tempt you to shift careers?” He teased, clearly enjoying her reddening face. “I’ll pay you every golden dragon in the world to keep my cock in you at all times. Or my tongue.”

She slapped him on the shoulder. “How many women have fallen for your filthy mouth?”

“Just one.” He licked his lips, eyes dropping to her exposed tits. He sighed longingly. “Only you.”

She shouldn’t be incandescently happy but couldn’t help it. Perhaps because every time he talked so filthily to her, he sounded like he was giving an impassioned delivery of a sonnet. Under the blanket, she slipped her leg between his thighs.

“I’m glad it’s only you, Brienne,” he said, suddenly serious. He swept a tendril from her cheek. “I don’t want it to be anyone else.”

“Oh, Jaime,” she breathed, moving to kiss him. He smoothly moved the bowl out of the way as he pulled her on top of him. He grunted as her bigger, heavier body pressed on him but his mouth was eager to meet her kiss. He tasted of cream and summer. Being in his arms was to find a warm sanctuary on a cold winter night. She sighed through their kiss, moaning in approval when he rolled so she was under him. He pulled away to look at her.

Her fingers feathering his eyebrows, his lips, she whispered, “I’m glad it’s only me. Can I say that?”

He kissed her fingers. “Never stop saying that.”

She pulled him down, this time lavishing gentle kisses on his throat, his collarbones. He smelled faintly of cologne, pastries and sex. He groaned in encouragement, fingers spearing through her hair as kissed her way back up to his chin. Until their lips met again.

“Have you thought about it?” He murmured, eating out her face and fucking her mouth with tongue.

Wrapping him in her arms, in her legs, she moaned, “What?”

“About the career change,” he joked.

“You don’t have to pay me dragons for the privilege,” she joked back. “Dessert will be appreciated more.”

He pretended to consider. “I can do desserts.”

“Can you, now.”

He chuckled. _“Wench.”_

She cried out from the deep draws of his lips on her nipples. He turned, once again having her on top of him. Her little tits hung like sweet fruit for his mouth, and he resumed devouring them. She gripped the rug fibers while panting for more. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her breast deeper in his mouth. His cock thrust against her cunt, the tip pressing, nudging at the folds. Her clit.

_“Jaime.”_

She shuddered against him through her release. His kisses on her nipples softened, the draws lengthy, tender. He set her down next to him and she was grateful for something solid to rest on. She sighed as he smoothed hair from her eyes, from her cheeks. His gaze was searing and loving.

“Think you can go another round, wench?” He asked, dropping beside her. They lay facing each other. With both of them damp, blond and flushed, they seemed like mirror images. She caressed his chest while he continued holding her by the cheek.

They would be up in a few hours. The smart choice was to cuddle and just sleep. But she lost quite a lost of brain cells around Jaime, except for the ones involved in wanting him. Fucking him.

“What do you have in mind?” She asked, playing with his nipple before kissing it.

Jaime reached for something above their heads. The strawberries and cream. He held a cream-laden fruit over her mouth, needing no speech to coax her to open. She obeyed and he pressed the entire fruit to her tongue. Another explosion of fresh, cool flavors, edged with chocolate. As it spread across her tongue, she watched him lick his fingers clean.

“You like how you taste, wench?” It was clear what he meant.

She pinked and nodded.

He kissed her again. A firm press of his lips on her and she parted her mouth, letting him partake of the mushed dessert inside. It was messy. Dirty. Bordered on disgusting. But it was a kiss, she was sure, no mortal had felt until this moment.

She shrieked when he suddenly swept the blanket from their bodies. “ _It’s cold!_ Jaime—"

It was _war._ His body slamming on top of hers, followed by his mouth taking her in a hot, feverish kiss, had her sweating and blushing in seconds. The idea of cold and everything else associated with it banished at every kiss, she moaned and wrapped her arms and legs around him. Her mouth was just open, letting him suck and devour her tongue. She burned from the press of their skins, the rustle of their hairs. She fucking _loved_ the delicious burn of his chest hairs on her nipples. Their pubic hairs tangling, his cock rubbing between folds of her cunt. Foreskin dragging at her clitoris.

“Wench?” He gasped. He tossed his head to get the hair out of his eyes. His lips were swollen and red like a ruby. “You were saying?”

She whined, “Fuck me fuck me fuck me.”

Their lips mashed again. Lost in his kisses, his body, she didn’t notice when his hand reached into the bowl of strawberries and cream. Two long fingers dipped, scooped, and then they were on her face, lining her mouth with cream. She gasped and thrust her body against him as he licked it off her.

Next, he dangled a plump, cream-laden strawberry above her lips. Her gaze kept shifting from the juicy, crimson fruit to his brilliant green eyes. Without warning, he suddenly crushed it in his hand. As juices poured from between his fingers, he growled at her to open her mouth.

So she did.

Moaning, whimpering, her tongue thrust to collect the juices and mush. As she swallowed, he smeared his hand on her face. He licked her cheek, her chin. She opened her mouth, begging for a wet, dirty strawberry kiss he was more than pleased to give. Strawberries, cream, Jaime—a triple delight of flavors and textures. Knowing that her cunt tasted like the creamy dessert, she finally understood why his tongue almost never left her.

Watching him through half-closed eyes dip his fingers in the bowl again, she whined and sucked on his shoulder. Supple skin over hard muscle. Warm male. “I want-I want—“she tried to say, unable to find the words to convey how much she wanted him. How she wanted to be filled with his flavor and scent and semen and everything else. “ _Jaime._ I want—I want—”

She shrieked like a banshee when he rubbed cream on her nipple then pinched it roughly. His kiss muffled the rest of her wails as his fingers pulled and twisted the reddened tissue. She grabbed him by the head, pushing her fingers through cool but sweat-damp hair while kissing him back. Over and over she drank from his mouth—sweet and sticky from the cream and strawberries.

She writhed and turned side to side, surrendering to his wet, hot kisses. His caresses were urgent. Relentless. She sighed and sobbed when his lips pulled at her nipples. Her body was covered in cream and the mush of strawberries crushed in his hands. Her face was still sticky from the earlier smear. She didn’t care that the stains would probably never be removed from the rug.

He had no trouble pushing her legs far apart. His mouth returned to her lips, once again swallowing her moans while his cream-slicked fingers fucked her cunt. She was flushed, and blushing even more hearing their slobbery, clumsy but needy kisses and the squelch of her cunt spreading and yielding to his thrusting fingers. Gods, just when she thought it could not get any better, it did.

_It always, always did._

She was on the brink of another screaming release when he suddenly pulled out. As she got ready to scream about castrating him, Jaime plucked another big strawberry from the bowl. He swirled it in cream, shooting her a side grin through the process before holding it to her mouth. Her tongue flicked out to catch it. To her confusion, he pulled back, held it between his teeth, then lowered his head between her thighs.

In the next instant, her eyes came close to bugging out of their sockets as he spread her cunt lips open and pushed the strawberry. In her. _In her cunt._

“Uh, Jaime?” She asked, squirming from the strange pressure.

He smirked and plucked another strawberry from the bowl. Cream dripped from it. “Trust me. You’ll like it.”

He stuffed it in her mouth then he knelt between her legs. As Brienne chewed and swallowed, she squirmed and blushed from his tongue plunging in her cunt. She sighed from his lips prodding at her cunt lips. Her cunt felt full and stretched, though it was only a piece of fruit inside her. Then his lips wrapped around her clitoris. _Gods._ Then he was turning the strawberry inside her. _Seven._ The achenes scraped her walls of her juices and flavor.

This time she came with a loud, throaty moan. Jaime relinquished her clit just as liquid spewed from her cunt. He chuckled softly, keeping his fingers in her, holding the fruit and continuing to twist it in her through her release. Only when she collapsed back on the floor panting harshly did he pull it out.

The strawberry shone like a jewel. She watched Jaime take a bite, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. “ _Brienne._ The gods did right with your pussy.”

She managed a weak laugh. She was wrung out. Doubted if she could ever get up again. She opened her arms as Jaime crawled back on top of her, holding the strawberry with his teeth. He kneed her legs open.

“One of these days, I’m washing your mouth with soap,” she whispered before her teeth took hold of the fruit. As they kissed and swirled the masticated bits and mush of strawberry in their mouths, his cock pushed in her cunt. She wrapped her legs around him, taking him deep inside her.

Not wanting to let go. If the gods could hear her heart, this was her one wish. For Jaime to never leave her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catherineflowers suggested that Brienne tastes like strawberries and cream!
> 
> In the next chapter, we see Podrick and Renly. SeleneU, it's happening! :-) 
> 
> *****  
> Sorry it took me a while to update. Besides grad school requirements, I also couldn't use my hand for a few days. Celebrating the return of my right hand with a new chapter!


	14. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With every word, he hoped to heal her broken heart. He loathed being helpless, at being relegated to watching her suffer and forced into token gestures of comfort when he wanted to do more. It had only been hours since Brienne’s world had collapsed. He didn’t know if he could stomach another day of seeing her so broken. 
> 
> But he was not going anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the scene you've been waiting for, SeleneU!

What was so great about waking up in Brienne’s place was the scent of woman and signature wench all over. It was like being in her eternal embrace.

Jaime liked waking up first. They slept spooned to each other but during the night, ended up on opposite sides of the bed. As soon as he was up, he liked to curl up against her. Sniff the lingering musk of fucking from her skin. The splotch of freckles on her shoulder always called for his lips. He liked indulging in these tender rituals, just being with her.

When he felt naughtier than usual, and this was often, he liked coaxing her sleeping form on her back. A heavy sleeper, Brienne’s big body was surprisingly soft and pliant when snoring away. His lips would travel all over her body. He liked to linger on her fat nipples, loving how they bloomed on his tongue. Then her pussy.

Her clit, plump and firm, was particularly succulent. He liked licking it, sucking it. She gasped and whimpered in her sleep when he did. She was fucking delicious everywhere, but he liked sinking his tongue in her pussy best. She always smelled great. Her pussy put to shame all the ambrosia in the world. In the brief time they’ve been together so far, he had grown addicted to the taste of his semen and her honey, best served from between the plump, meaty folds of her pussy. He could eat her out all day.

Last night’s vigorous and extended fuck marathon had knocked him straight to dreamland as soon as spilling for the nth time in Brienne. He woke up sprawled and alone, but with the side where his wench slept still a little warm. He smiled sleepily, sniffing her smell from the pillow for several seconds before reluctantly leaving the warmth of the bed.

He didn’t have to walk around nude and freezing his balls off in the room for long because Brienne had thoughtfully laid out a robe for him, one of her sweaters that were two sizes too big, pajamas and socks. After getting dressed, he washed his face in the bathroom.

He walked into the kitchen just as Brienne was putting a pot coffee on the dining table. Her apartment was slightly smaller than his, but the layout made it more spacious. The way she had arranged things too meant that in the kitchen was a small dining table with matching chairs. He felt like a grown-up in her place. Although his living room served as a dining area too, with the coffee table and the sofa often where he ate and fed guests, he appreciated that in Brienne’s pad were designated areas for doing specific things.

“Wench.” At his greeting, she gave him a big, toothy smile before continuing to pour coffee in the mugs. She was in a plaid robe, sweater and one of the old, faded boxers he slept in. Her hair was a pale, tousled halo swirling around her nape. She looked sleepy and flushed, yet glowing. This was his favorite look on her—relaxed and well-fucked.

“I was just about to wake you,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.

“I didn’t get to wake you,” he pretended to complain, pulling out a chair for her before doing the same for himself. He waited until she finished pouring and was sitting down before plunking down his chair. “I thought you’d be too exhausted to wake up this early.”

“Is that always the goal why there’s hardly a night we’re not fucking?” She asked, truly curious. She cut a piece off the chocolate cream pie and put it on his plate.

He was never going to get used to how she put him first. “Thanks, wench. And great coffee too,” he said sincerely after taking a sip. Strong and robust, coffee and sugar would actually be an insult to coffee this incredible.

“I’m glad,” she murmured, pinking from his praise. He watched her put the second place on her plate. Bless his wench for being absent the day school taught taking small bites. He smiled dreamily, content to just feel his cock twitch.

“In answer to your question,” he said with mock seriousness, picking up his fork. “I believe I fuck you almost everyday because you’re always wet. And you always look at me like you’re going to break my legs if I don’t put my cock in you right away.”

She burst out laughing. Motorboat sounds combined with horsey, nasal sounds. “I don’t look like that!”

“To me you do.” He smiled, flicking cream from her lips and licking it from his finger. “And I like it.”

“Hmm. I can’t complain. You do know how to use your cock.” She teased. Suddenly she yawned. Stretching her arms over her head, she groaned, “I just wish I won’t fall asleep in the dressing room later.”

“I told Ellaria to bring you only to the naughtiest shops,” he said, enjoying how her face reddened some more. “A burlap sack won’t stop me from fucking you but I admit to being excited to see you in a corset. Or one of those swishy silk things that make you look more naked than clothed.”

“Ellaria did tell me. I told her we’ll no longer be friends if she does as you told her.”

“You’re mean.”

“You like it.”

He let out a defeated sigh. “It’s fucking sexy, I admit. Mean Wench. Bad Brienne. Two great titles for a porno.”

She laughed again. Gods, why did he find her wheezing motorboat sounds so sexy? He looked at her, one corner of his lips quirked in a soft smile. He had never, absolutely never, been this happy or relaxed, or had as much fun with any woman until Brienne. Boring board games became exciting. Poker transformed into an edge-of-your-seat encounter. He liked showing her off. At least twice Bronn had pointed out he stared at Brienne as if she’d hung the moon and stars and also as if she was a buffet spread of only the most exquisite dishes. It should embarrass him. He should deny it. But he enjoyed looking at her the way he did. There was so much pleasure to be derived just from a glimpse of her breathtaking sapphire eyes.

“By the way, I think someone messaged you. Your phone made this beeping sound,” Brienne told him. “You dropped it on the floor last night. It’s on the coffee table now.”

“I’ll look at it later.” As Jaime dug into the pie some more, Brienne pulled out something from under the table. He paused, a smile frozen in his face when he saw the flat, square package in her hand. It was wrapped in glossy black-and-white paper, topped with a crimson bow. “Wench, what’s that?”

It was really cute how red she got every time he spoke to her. It was always so fucking sexy. She still blushed like a maiden despite having his cock in her ass. For a moment, he indulged in the fantasy of both of them living several hundred years in the past. He saw himself as a knight in pursuit of a pale, freckled maiden. A knight most eager to teach his maiden wife the pleasures to be found in their bedchamber.

Brienne’s virgin pussy would be close to impenetrable, he supposed, in such a scenario. He’d blow his load before giving her any pleasure. But once he’d broken her barrier, once she was wide and dripping for his cock, only carnal pleasures awaited them. And boy, would he teach her things. Like finding her own pleasure. Ensure he was a vital element to _that._

As appealing as that fantasy was, there was nothing he’d change about what they had in the present time. He was definitely the kinky one in their relationship but only because she was open to fun. Unlike before when he knew that the other women indulged his proclivities in the hopes of keeping him at their side longer, he knew Brienne took part because she found her own pleasure too. It was always a definite turn-on when your partner found her own pleasure from your encouragement. Jaime could watch for hours how Brienne’s head fell back, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she got lost in her own pleasure while with him. She was beautiful to watch.

Brienne looked at the gift in her hands then reluctantly put it on the table. “It’s for you.”

“For me?” Now this was really unexpected. “But it’s not my birthday.”

He’d never gotten gifts outside of a birthday. Sometimes there were birthdays he got nothing at all.

“No. . .but it’s something I’ve been wanting to give you for a while,” she admitted. “I didn’t at first because. . .I didn’t know then how long we would be fucking. And now, we’re not just fucking. So I thought. . .I found it among my Dad’s things. I thought you’d want to have it.”

Something of Selwyn’s. Moved already from Brienne’s gesture, knowing that she was giving him something of her father’s touched his soul even more. He kissed her hand. “Thank you. This is. . .this is so wonderful of you. I know I’ll love it,” he said sincerely. “Can I open it now?”

“Of course!”

As he picked up the gift and started plucking at the tape, he asked, “When were you going to give this before?”

“Do you remember. . .” Brienne was suddenly so red Jaime feared she might self-combust. “Remember. . .the day you first. . .in the kitchen of The Sapphire Patisserie?”

He smiled. “There’s no forgetting that, Brienne. That’s the day I discovered the wettest pussy in Westeros.” One taste of Brienne would never be enough.

“Err. . .or you can also say you like fucking me. It’s also acceptable, I think.”

“Hands down the best fuck of my life,” he said instead, just to make her blush even more. It worked. “You were telling me the truth, right? That you’ve never been as wet with others like you are with me?”

Brienne squawked. Her cheeks were redder. Enjoying this way too much, he drawled, “It’s amazing how wet you always are. Oh, and when do you plan on telling me how many you’ve fucked?”

She snorted. “ _Why_ are you so interested? How many times must I tell you that you’re the best I’ve had?”

“Oh, never stop because I have a very fragile ego. But I do want to know how many men I should send thank you cards to.” He laughed as she blushed again. “Fucking idiots letting you go. Was one of them at least fucking you half as much as I do?”

“Jaime, no man fucks as much as you do,” she breathed.

“Not until you, wench.” His voice softened. “I still can’t believe it sometimes.”

“What?”

“That you’re you,” he said simply. If the wench knew how many times in a day he wanted to shout his gratitude to the Seven from the highest rooftop. “And you love me.”

He closed his eyes as she kissed him. It was like being touched by the Maiden. “I do love you, Jaime.”

A loving, intimate look was shared between them before he remembered the gift. He resumed opening it.

He took his time. A surprise like this—sweet and from Brienne, must be relished. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her practically bouncing in her seat. She just watched him, though her excitement at his finding what was under all the wrapping and ribbon was infectious.

He didn’t know why but Brienne stepping back, letting him take his time, was another reason to love her so much.

He made no tears on the wrapper. Once the package was unveiled, he had to take a deep breath.

Held in a beautiful wooden frame was a photo of him with Selwyn. They wore chef’s uniforms with the logo of The Golden Stag on the left breast. The photo captured them mid-laugh. Jaime’s hand went to his shoulder, remembering Selwyn’s repeated pats on it. He remembered that day. That was the day of his promotion as Pastry Chef. In between congratulatory wishes, Selwyn had joked that Jaime was going to have to get fat since no one would ever trust a skinny chef, let alone one whose expertise was desserts.

Jaime’s chest tightened. Selwyn had looked so proud of him that day. He was the father he wished he had.

“This was when I got promoted as Pastry Chef,” he explained to Brienne. Gods, he looked so young in the photo. A man bursting with hope and ambition. A man eager to make his mentor proud. He blinked to relieve the prick of tears behind his eyeballs. Rubbing a hand quickly on his eyes, he hugged the frame to his chest and turned to Brienne. Cradling her cheek, he whispered, “I love this, wench. Thank you.”

“I’m glad,” she said, visibly relieved. She held his hand to her cheek. “When I saw this among dad’s things, I knew you had to have it.”

“Do you think. . .would it be alright. . .” Jaime looked at the photo. It had been so long since he hadn’t felt any guilt or self-loathing when reminded of Selwyn. “Do you think we can put this in the shop?”

“Of course. You can put it anywhere you wish.”

“Not in the office,” he clarified. “I want this out front. Prominently displayed. I want people to know I won’t be where I am without your dad. He helped me so much. He believed in me. He was the only one to really believe in me until you. I want to be that man again, Brienne.” He looked away from Selwyn’s blue eyes in the photo to Brienne’s. He took her hand and kissed it firmly. His eyes were naked with need. “Will you help me?”

She kissed him on the lips. “You have always been that man, Jaime.”  


*********

“Hold the fuck up.” Ellaria said. She turned away from the rack displaying silk bustiers lavished with lace. Wide brown eyes looked up at Brienne. “I thought you and Jaime are just fucking.”

Brienne frowned at the colorful flowers stitched on the cups of a bright pink bustier. She had to rub her eyes from the glare of lights bouncing off the color. Catching Ellaria’s inquiring and startled expression, she shrugged. A blush climbed to her cheeks.

“Uh, yeah. It started like that. And then. . .it wasn’t just like that.”

When did their fling turn to love? Brienne had wondered about that too. Most couples got to know each other first before shirts flew off. There was not much time between facing off during the patisserie’s renovation and jumping into bed—or in their case, the counter, she thought. As she warmed from the memory, Ellaria asked, “Tell me the truth. How good is Jaime in bed?”

Brienne bit her lip. Ellaria only had to see her crimson face and neck to know that Jaime Lannister’s skills was off the charts. Visibly impressed, Ellaria grinned. _“Wow.”_

“He’s also so, so generous,” Brienne said in a low voice, not really noticing she was taking off the rack a black sheer nightie with a slit in front. It came with a matching thong.

“Generous how?” Ellaria glanced at the bit of mesh in her hands. “That’s nice. You should try it on. Not your usual style but I can see it working for you.”

“Maybe,” Brienne said absently, lost in her thoughts of Jaime. She put the nightie in the basket. “He’s generous. . .he _enjoys_ making it all about me.”

She had to turn away because of the sudden onslaught of memories. Jaime going for her jeans and belt as soon as they were in the apartment. Jaime raising her skirt to look at her underwear and garter belt. Waking up to Jaime slurping her cunt. Jaime tonguing her clit. The giddiness in his face after she was undone by his tongue.

Her cunt swelled and she let out a soft, shaky breath as warm moisture spread on her underwear.

“And—and it’s not just in bed,” she stammered, wiping a dot of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. She put a feather boa in the basket next, not noticing it again. “He makes sure I bite into food first before he starts on his share. And. . .and when we were still using condoms, he always made sure to have the variety I liked. Once, I just happened to mention I loved cherries. The next day he sent me a basket.”

“A basket of cherries,” Ellaria echoed.

“He’s better at using food in communicating.” Brienne fingered the delicate silk material of the bustier she was now holding. “When we talk, he actually listens. It seems he lives to please. He hardly puts himself first.” That was a sobering truth. Clearing her throat, she said, “Which I hope changes? People have taken advantage of just how hard-working and dedicated he is. I want to protect him from that.”

Brienne was not a violent person but to protect Jaime she would be more than willing to smash a few noses. She had seen him close to destroyed treated not just like a piece of meat but also with what little he had left fought over by people no better than jackals. His soul was never getting crushed again. She would make sure of it.

Catching Ellaria’s surprise, Brienne flushed and shrugged. “I’m sorry. But he’s told me some things. I really don’t want him to be in that position again.”

“No, it’s not that.” Ellaria assured her “You really love him.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I be honest?”

Brienne grinned. “Tell me exactly when you haven’t been?”

Ellaria chuckled. “Okay, now I can say this. You never talked about Renly this way. But you were convinced for a long time he was it. The one.”

“I was?” Brienne frowned at the contents of her basket. “What the fuck are these?”

Ellaria started removing the contents. “The black one is nice, though. But we should look for it in blue too, I think. The rest. . .I’m not sure. Do you like them?”

“I certainly don’t. Hey, did I really think Renly was the one?” Brienne didn’t know why but the very idea made her itch.

“You didn’t explicitly say it. But when we talked about him, it wasn’t like how you talked about Jaime just now. With Renly it seemed you were rattling off a checklist. He was smart. Handsome. Your goals aligned.” Ellaria squeezed her hand as Brienne made a face. “But I’m not one to judge. After all, one of the reasons I fell for Oberyn is he uses the same brand of soap for cleaning dildos and butt plugs. But it’s details like that, Brienne. The real things. Renly seemed on a pedestal and I think you kind of settled for him. And your dates were business transactions.”

Brienne laughed. “You’re not serious!”

“Unfortunately, I am! Sweetheart, it was always a tit for tat thing. Like, if went to see a play one weekend Renly would demand you go to a wine tasting on the next. If you guys went out for cheeseburgers one time, it had to be, I don’t know, beef carpaccio next. Which I know for a fact disgusts you.”

“That’s how we did things.” Brienne murmured.

“You seemed happy, so I said nothing. That’s what mattered. I wanted to say something but worried about ruining things. But now that it’s over. . .did you really see yourself with someone like that for a long time? Like, every time you wanted something, the next time he had to get his way? It was like keeping a tally. That’s not how it is at all with Jaime, isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Brienne said slowly. She was remembering one incident.

As she caught her breath after fucking Renly, he got up to get her water. It was a sweet, thoughtful thing to do. Four days later, after fucking again, as she lay in bed panting, Renly stretched out and said she should get him water since he did it last time.

There were more. When he went down on her, she should blow him immediately after. He hated beer and refused to kiss her when she had it. The few times he did, he made it clear he was doing her a favor and insisted she should make up for it. If it was opera season, it meant nights in the theater balcony, feeling her eardrums about to burst as some woman onstage sang-wailed about betrayal.

Jaime, meanwhile, did things for her because he wanted to. Made her breakfast. In the middle of the day during work, he went to the office just to give her a shoulder rub or a kiss. He took care of her. Did things that made her happy. She was the same.

“Then I’m happy for you.” Ellaria patted her on the shoulder. “I see how happy he makes you. He’s one the really good guys, if you know what I mean. Not to mention an excellent baker. I’ve been dreaming about those cakes since sampling them.” She rubbed her palms and licked her lips. “ _Yum._ ”

“He’s very talented, isn’t he?” Brienne said proudly. If only Jaime were here. He swore he was trying to start believing in himself again. Given what had happened to him, it will take him a while.

“He sure is. And the designs he came up with—I’m actually worried Oberyn would propose to him,” she joked, giggling. “We’re really excited. Oberyn was so bummed he didn’t get to join me.”

“What’s he wearing by the way?” Brienne asked.

“He’s going to be shirtless. It’s just a pair of silk trousers for him. We got color-coordinated outfits.”

“And are you. . .ah. . .” Brienne wasn’t too sure she’d want Jaime anywhere near Ellaria if she was topless. Blushing, she gestured at her shirt. “You won’t be. .I mean, it’s not just trousers for you, is it?”

Ellaria mimed pulling her coat closer to her body. “Only Oberyn gets to see the goods. The rest I leave to your filthy imagination.”

******  
Because Bronn was a long-standing member of his gym, he was awarded perks now and then. This month he received coupons to a class where the flowing movements of yoga was complemented with the intensity of boot camp workout. The instructor was an ex-Bear Claw, an exclusive special forces unit of the Westeros military. Though he was clearly past fifty, his eyes were clear and blue on his lined, suntanned face. He was tall and very muscular. He wore a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and leggings that hugged the bulging muscles of his thighs and calves. He had introduced himself to the class as Jorah Mormont.

Jaime hardly saw the inside of a gym. He worked with dumbbells when he felt like it and ran in the park for the same reason. Besides not being a fan of confined spaces, he also hated being around people who yakked about how the dairy-free, gluten-free crap they ate was the best thing ever. Bronn thrived in such a crowd, however, despite selling food they will never eat.

And being in a gym felt like self-inflicted torture. As Jaime felt himself close to collapsing doing burpees, Jorah called out, “At the count of three, we will begin to slow down. One, two, three. . .”

Panting, Jaime was ready to collapse on the floor when Jorah instructed them to spread and raise their arms on inhale, then exhale while lowering them. In the mirrored wall, Jaime’s sweaty, red face showed disbelief as everyone else obeyed. They were all sweaty—faces and bare arms shone, and some like Bronn even had a little pool gathered in their mats. It didn’t take long for Jaime’s nose to detect the rank odor of everyone’s sweat and possibly certain pairs of balls. Making a face, he glared at Bronn in the mirror. The bastard was too busy flapping his arms while inhaling and exhaling. He also wore a serene expression on his stupid face.

“You seriously feel energized from this?” Jaime whispered, grudgingly following Jorah’s next instructions. Dropping on all fours on the exhale, he arched his back then pushed himself up in the downward facing dog position. Blood seemed to go straight to his head.

“It’s always good to let it all pour out,” Bronn whispered back.

“Doesn’t mean I want to know how your balls smell. Seven hells, did you shower today?”

“Did you?” Bronn shot back. “Isn’t it rude to Brienne that you fuck her without taking a shower for days?”

“Fuck you. I never miss a shower. And she likes the smell of my sweat.”

Jaime wrinkled his nose as Jorah instructed them to straighten up, doing another series of breathing accompanied by arm flapping. Guiding the students to what was called the tree pose, Jaime for the first time saw the true consequences of wearing tight bottoms. He stared at the ceiling.

“Did you really have to wear cycling shorts?” He whispered to Bronn.

Bronn chuckled, glancing proudly at his bulge. “Seeing how little you measure against me, is that it?”

Jaime wanted to die. The overwhelming stink of sweat and other bodily odors he was better off not knowing until today was hell he wouldn’t wish on anyone. He wanted to cry. He missed Brienne’s fresh, herb garden scent. He thought of her warm mouth. Her breath was always fresh, even when she’d just had chocolate. Then her pussy. Head-spinning womanly musk that tasted like strawberries and cream. 

After class, Jaime and Bronn hit the showers. “Next time you have a free pass involving tight shorts and sweat, feel free not to call me,” Jaime said over the roar of water as it drenched his head. “I’m gonna have nightmares for weeks.”

“You’re just sore because your flabby ass can’t pull off cycling shorts,” Bronn answered. “Shorts are fashion’s ultimate calling cards. You wear one of those tight babies and the ladies come my way.”

“Didn’t see anyone getting lost in your direction. Besides,” Jaime added, soaping his underarms vigorously. “They’re bored, suburban wives who have nothing but sales to go to and bake sales to organize.”

“Bored suburban housewives looking for a fuck boy in the city,” Bronn clarified.

“Sorry to say this but tight shorts don’t make a man your age and looks a fuck boy but a desperate pervert.”

“Better than looking like a someone who chooses grilled cheese over fucking. Or any physical movement.”

Over the wall partition between them, Jaime glared at Bronn. “I’m not fat!”

Bronn chuckled and continued washing himself.

Later, when he was dressed and feeling a lot better now that he was clean, Jaime waited for Bronn by the water dispenser. The lunchtime crowd of the gym was small—a couple of men and women working the machines, and instructors guiding clients through exercises involving exercise balls and resistance bands.

“Jaime?”

He turned, not recognizing the redhead approaching at first. Seeing his confusion, Ros laughed. “Well, that’s expected. It’s been a while.” Then she whispered conspiratorially, “I’m also in clothes.”

His half-hearted attempt at a smile went only up to a wince. They first met when he needed an extension on the bank loan. She was manager and the decision was up to her. Having played the game for so long, Jaime knew how to spin the situation in a way that he got exactly what he wanted but with the woman thinking she got the deal of the decade.

Ros had been straight to the point, however. One look at Jaime from across her desk and she spelled out what she wanted in return for granting him extensions. It wasn’t too difficult on his end to agree. He needed the extension. Besides, she was pretty.

“You look good,” she continued. “I didn’t know you worked out here too? I come here during my lunch hour.”

Her red hair was piled in a messy ponytail on top of her head. She wore a black midriff and gray leggings with a floral pattern. Though devoid of makeup and hardly dressed to entice, she still turned heads.

“No. No, not at all. A friend does and he thought to bring me along.” Jaime replied as she took a paper cup and filled it with water. Holy fucking hell. Was he going to run into women he’d fucked for the rest of his life? The city was beginning to feel very small.

Just then, Bronn appeared. Hair now dry and brushed back over his high forehead, he was now in street clothes. “Ready?”

“Hey,” Ros straightened up and smiled at him. “Are you Jaime’s friend?”

Bronn visibly puffed up with the younger woman giving him attention. Grinning, he answered, “Yeah. Name’s Bronn. Are you also his friend?”

Having moved in front of Jaime when Ros spoke to him, Bronn didn’t see him shake his head when Ros’ eyes darted quickly behind him. “More like client. I work at Baelish Trust.” She offered her hand. “I just thought to say hi. That the bank enjoys doing business with him.”

“Really. Are you taking in new clients?” Bronn asked, shaking her hand then releasing it. “I ask, because, well, I have needs. Banking needs.” He cleared his throat. “I own a store.”

“Oh. A pastry shop too?”

“No. I sell gourmet takeaways.”

“Gourmet takeaways,” Ros murmured, giving a slight nod. “You don’t hear that everyday. Well, I’m off to my workout. Jaime, glad that you’re on schedule—you know what I mean. Keep it up. And Bronn,” she handed him a card. “Give me a call. I’ll be happy to walk you through your. . . _banking needs_.”

As soon as Ros was out of the earshot, Bronn gave Jaime a wary look. “Did you fuck her?”

There was no reason to lie. “Yeah. But we were never serious.”

Bronn frowned. “Are you still fucking her?”

 _“No.”_ Jaime grunted. “Seven hells, Bronn. I’m with Brienne. Why would I have someone else on the side?”

“For as long as I’ve known you, you always have someone on the side. You’re like a fucking main course with all these sides,” Bronn complained as they headed out. Zipping up his puffy jacket, he asked, “She’s not hung up over you, is she?”

“No. We just fucked.” When Bronn looked disappointed, Jaime sighed loudly. “Why is that terrible? It shouldn’t be a problem to you. I’m just a cock to her. You might have a chance to be more than that.”

“Did you want to be more than a cock to her?”

“Not my type.”

“Why? Not blond? Porno tits?”

Jaime looked at him then rolled his eyes again. Walking down the sidewalk, Bronn said, “Look, women who look like her don’t fantasize about men like me.”

“When the fuck did you send out invitations to the pity party? I swear I sent my regrets. Bronn, come on. She gave you her card.”

“Yeah, because she thinks I’m a potential client! You know how it is when snagging clients. They always put on the frontlines models. Or people who look like models. Gods,” Bronn shook his head. “The tits on that one. Are they real or enhanced?”

“See, talking about her like that is not going to help your chances at all. Also, does it matter?”

Bronn shrugged. “Guess not.” He pulled out the card from his jacket and read it again. “She’s bank manager, huh? For real?”

“Why? Because she has porno tits?” Jaime rolled his eyes. “Look, if you want to know her, call her. Just. . .don’t be you. You know, you and your talk of tits. No one wants to be part of that.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and strode ahead of Bronn. “Seriously. No one. And burn those little shorts. You don’t want to disappoint her when she finds out you’re wearing a cup.”

They walked three blocks to the street of The Sapphire Patisserie, where they parted ways. With ten more minutes to spare before lunchbreak was over, he ducked in the locker room. He changed back into his uniform and peeked in the office to check on Brienne. She was stashing a black and pink package under the desk. He smirked, recognizing the colors. At her blush, his grin widened.

“I take it the shopping was a success?” He asked, closing the door behind him.

“Just barely,” she answered. Looking at him from head to toe, she added, “You look fantastic. Glowing, in fact.”

“Thanks,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “Considering I spent forty-five minutes with Bronn and his tight shorts.”

She laughed. “Oh no. Poor baby. Come here.”

He happily leaned into her embrace. There. She smelled of snow and fresh herbs. He loved being in her arms. She was warm and strong yet gave the best hugs. She had wider shoulders and seemed made to rest his head on. Nuzzling the fragrant side of her neck drew a husky little laugh from her. Her lips rubbed up and down his cheek. As they pulled away, he continued looking up at her. She wore a soft expression that made her look almost pretty. Hand caressing his cheek, she whispered, “Jaime?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for being you.”

Someone knocked on the door. Because they no longer had to hide, Jaime remained in Brienne’s arms. Shae peeked in.

“Hey, Brienne? There’s a guy looking for you outside. Said he used to work with you. Podrick?”

******

Podrick was standing by the side of the door when Brienne arrived. He smiled and gave her an awkward little wave as she went to him. “Pod, hello. This is a surprise.”

“Sorry. I know I should have called first, but things happened quickly. Do you have a minute?” He asked. He kept looking out of the store, clearly anxious.

“Of course. What’s going on?”

He turned to her. He looked very worried. “Do you think we can go somewhere private?”

Jaime didn’t like it when non-employees or anyone not directly connected to their business was brought to the office. But because of the crowd, Brienne had no choice. “Sure. Follow me.”

The visit from Podrick, besides being unexpected, was just odd. She had not heard from him after Selwyn’s funeral. Though they had a good working relationship, they were not friends. She had meant to thank him for coming to funeral, but she thought better to stay away from anyone connected to Spectrum. There was no more bitterness over what Spectrum and Renly had done but for her own peace of mind, she moved on into the new chapter of her life.

“I’m sorry but this isn’t really a social call,” Podrick said as he followed Brienne into the kitchen. Hit by the warmth from the stoves and the aroma of baking goods, he managed a quick smile. “But your new work smells great. A lot better.”

She was about to correct him and say this was just temporary. But it had been months. Almost three months.

The bakers were too busy with work to give them a glance. Jaime’s head swiveled in her direction, shooting her a curious look. Brienne shrugged at him and lead Podrick to the office.

“What’s going on?” She asked, directing him to a chair. “Sorry we’re cramped here. We’re not really big on office space, as you can see.”

“It’s alright,” Podrick assured her. “I’ve been hearing great things. I saw the article with you and the baker. The Village Beat? You looked great.”

Brienne knew she wasn’t photogenic. “That’s kind of you. So, if this is not a social call, what brings you here?”

“It’s about Renly.” At her surprise, Podrick flushed. “I hated what they did to you, Brienne. I want that to be clear. You’re a great boss. The best I’ve had. That’s why I’m here.”

Then he put his backpack on his lap and pulled out a folder. He seemed to hesitate before handing it to her.

“What is this?” Brienne asked, slowly flipping through it. They were print-outs of emails and memos, it looked like.

“Renly was fired this morning. Termination was immediate. Security was called.” Podrick suddenly chuckled. He looked at her admiringly. “Brienne, I don’t know how you’ll take this, but charging all those flowers in the company credit card he was using was just. . .it was genius. He deserved it. You should have gotten that promotion. Like I said, you’re the best boss I’ve had. That’s why I’m doing this.”

“The thing with the flowers was a while ago,” Brienne murmured, reading one print-out. She frowned, not quite sure if what she was reading was real.

“Renly was already being investigated. He sweet-talked his way into getting a probation after the flowers.” At her frown, Podrick quickly added, “but he was already on a watchlist because of how he was abusing company funds. What you have there are directives from Renly himself telling IT to block certain emails sent to you.”

“Emails from whom?” Brienne asked. She squinted at the address of one sender. “I don’t recognize these.”

“Brienne, other advertising agencies have been trying to get you. For over a year. I don’t know how Renly got wind of them, but you can see that these emails go back around that time. I was also at an event a couple of weeks ago. I can’t really verify because I just heard. But Renly has been telling other agencies not to hire you because of your behavior.” He shifted awkwardly in his seat as she looked at him in shock. “He said you always went over-budget. That there was money unaccounted for.” He winced. “He said you were fired for ‘insubordination and exhibiting behavior of questionable ethics--’I’m quoting what I heard.”

“I-I wasn’t fired.”

Podrick nodded grimly. “I know. Bad enough what Renly and the other guys did to you. But hearing that. . .I would have come sooner but I didn’t have proof. I also couldn’t believe it myself.”

“How did you get these?” She recognized a name from one of the emails. He owned a rival advertising agency.

“Renly was stupid enough to print them out. He forgot about them. I was instructed to clear his desk while management was talking to him. I’m sorry, Brienne. You don’t deserve this. But I thought. . .I thought you deserved to know.”

No wonder. Brienne put away the folder because her hands were shaking. There was her answer. Advertising was not only competitive but a small field, even in the city. Word was quick to get around. Renly had clearly been busy.

A few weeks ago, a month ago, she would have screamed and thrown things. Now she just felt drained. No relief. Answers sometimes didn’t bring closure.

“I also wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me,” Podrick said haltingly, clearing his throat. At her surprised look, he shrugged. “We’re not friends, and I don’t have a problem with that,” he added quickly. “But with what happened. . .”

“You showed up at my dad’s funeral,” she pointed out.

“But of course. I was ready for you to throw me and Pia out.”

She shook her head. “That wasn’t going to happen. None of it was your fault. I never blamed you. Someone gave you an order and you couldn’t very well disobey. This was all Renly.”

“Randyll Tarly was also forced into early retirement.”

Well, the gods surprised her sometimes. “Good.”

“For what it’s worth, Spectrum might be calling you soon. They need a new creative director. Hyle Hunt was also fired.” Podrick didn’t mask his relief.

“How-why?”

Podrick looked physically ill. “He was sleeping with interns. One of them complained and filed a lawsuit against Spectrum. That’s why Renly also got fired. He knew about Hyle’s behavior but didn’t alert anyone in HR. Word is Tarly was in on it.”

“Spectrum finally did something right.” Brienne said with a sigh.

“Was I right to tell you?” Podrick gestured at the folder.

She honestly didn’t know. “I guess. . .I understand things now.”

But it hurt. It really hurt. All the things she’d worked hard for undone by the one person she thought could be trusted. Someone she did care about before knowing his true colors.

“The Golden Company pulled out when they found out you were no longer involved.” Podrick continued. “As did other companies you brought in. It’s hurt Spectrum.”

“You should leave that sinking ship,” Brienne advised. “There are better opportunities.”

“You mean you won’t be coming back?”

“Pod, nobody’s calling. I don’t think they’ll call.” She could live with that. Once she was done with Spectrum, she really was. Even with a different boss or management, she couldn’t stomach going back there. She had loved her work. She still loved advertising. But after many years and all those sacrifices, she deserved better recognition of her efforts. Sighing, she got up from the desk. Podrick rose from his seat too.

“Still. . .if they call. . .” Podrick looked at her, biting his lip. “I mean it, Brienne. You’re the best boss I’ve had.”

She smiled and shook his hand. “I won’t forget that.”

She saw Podrick out of the office. “Hey, don’t leave before getting some snacks,” she offered, taking a box from the counter. Before he could protest, she put three Oathporkers and then three of the triangle, raspberry-filled things that they haven’t named yet. “They go great with coffee. And don’t be yikked about the bacon on the cupcakes. They’re very good.”

Podrick grinned. “Thank you, Brienne. I heard you also cater. I’ll keep that in mind for our next meeting.”

She walked him to the door and waved goodbye. Back in the store, she looked at the customers lined up at the counter and the others filling up their trays with pastries. Shae was ringing up purchases while Theon stood next to her, bagging them up. Chewing on her bottom lip, she returned to the kitchen.

Jaime was giving instructions on the proper way of putting a dollop of frosting on the cupcakes without having the topping topple over. She waited for him to finish before walking over. A hand on his shoulder was all it took. He saw her pale face and followed her to the alley. They got their coats from the rack.

Shivering despite the thickness of her coat, Brienne told Jaime everything. She paced back and forth, expelling her rage and tears at the betrayal and the destruction of her career. The deeper she got into her rant, the tighter Jaime’s face screwed in anger.

By the time everything was out, her shoulders slumped. Her head felt heavy. She turned to Jaime, her eyes red and swollen, her lower lip trembling. He pushed himself off the wall to go to her. With a sob, she collapsed in his arms, burying her face between his neck and shoulder. She clung to him, glad for his strength and the comforting crush of his embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. She felt his lips brush her cheek. He rocked her in his arms, rubbed her back through her coat. “Fuck, Brienne. You don’t deserve this. I’m so sorry.”

“It hurts so much,” she whimpered. Though wrung out, her body was shaking from the toll of the discovery. She pressed herself even closer to him, desperate for his strength and warmth.

“Do you want me to take you home?” He asked when she had calmed a bit and put some distance between them. Their arms remained around each other. His knuckles brushed away her tears. She stared back at his concerned eyes. “Tell me what I can do, Brienne.”

“Just hold me? Be with me?” She hated how needy she sounded but this was Jaime. He never shamed her for anything.

He kissed her. “Of course.”

She sighed and returned to his embrace. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Jaime. I thought. . .I thought after I’ve put the shop back on its feet I can just go back to advertising. Now. . .with what’s happened, I don’t think I can.” She fisted his coat. _“Jaime, I don’t fucking know what to do.”_

The horror of uncertainty was too much. Just when she thought no more tears would spill, a fresh bout began.

******

Nothing was more hateful than failing to protect the one you loved. 

When he felt low and used after fucking his way to success, he always justified it was necessary. Fucking women instrumental to the survival of his business brought some pleasure and relief—it was sex, after all, and he knew what he was getting into. Then it all got old. He wanted more, and not with any of them. Nor could he look at himself in the mirror anymore.

The two hours where Brienne had not answered his calls and messages following the encounter with Margaery was nothing compared to this. That was his fault. It was his responsibility to fix it. True, he’d felt helpless but not as helpless as he did now. There was just nothing he could do.

Brienne refused to go home. A deluge of tears had poured seemingly without end from her eyes. His coat and shirt were completely soaked through. Smelled of drool too because she had pressed her open, wet mouth on him to quiet her sobs. She had wailed about not knowing what do with her life anymore and he hated, he fucking hated how he couldn’t even offer her any word of comfort. There was nothing.

After crying and shattering in his arms for a good part of the afternoon, Brienne insisted on going back to work. Nothing could convince her to take a break and recharge. She had muttered about inventory, orders, sales and such. Jaime would haul her into a cab except she was a lot stronger. In her state, he didn’t wish to aggravate her even more.

Brienne locked herself in the office for the rest of the day. Jaime checked in on her a few times. Knowing she’d skipped lunch to shop, he brought her waffles made from scratch and bacon. They swam in maple syrup—just as she liked it. She had looked tortured at the sight of the food, but Jaime refused to leave the office until she’d had a few bites.

Jaime brought her coffee, hugged her. Kissed her on the forehead, the cheek. Each time she leaned into him, her big body heavy still from the turmoil visited on her. His poor wench. Her spirit clearly broken and there was nothing he could do. It was so fucking hateful. He vowed to kick Renly Baratheon’s teeth in the first chance he got. It won’t undo the damage on Brienne’s career, but blood was spilled.

Usually, it was the staff tasked with closing the shop. But Jaime sent them home. As they marched out of the back door, he went to the office. Brienne was stretching her arms over her head.

“I’m closing up. Why don’t we have takeout tonight? Your choice. Doesn’t have to be farm to fork,” he added, hoping to lighten her mood.

She was still wan, with eyes swollen from crying. But he thought he saw the suggestion of a smile. “That sounds like heaven. Why don’t I help you?”

They did the kitchen first, checking that no electrical equipment or device was left switched on and the ingredients stored properly. Counters have been cleared and wiped clean, shining like liquid mercury under the lights. On to the shop they went next. While Brienne swept the floor clean, Jaime locked storage cabinets and pulled down the screen of the shop windows.

“Do you think. . .do you think I can bounce back from this?” Brienne suddenly asked. Jaime, leaving one of the screens pulled only halfway down, turned to look at her. Her head was bowed as she swept. Hunched and her movements slow as if in pain. He didn’t need to see her eyes to know they gleamed with sorrow. How he wished a hug would make everything alright.

“No,” he answered. _“I know.”_

Brienne glanced at him, pausing in the task. “But my reputation is ruined.”

Jaime went to her. Taking her hands, he looked her right in the eyes. “I won’t lie and say it will be easy. There’s a lot of work you have to undo.” Brienne’s chin wobbled as her eyes shimmered from tears about to fall. “But you’re not going to be alone in this. And I know you’re going to recover from this. Just look at what you’ve done here for The Sapphire Patisserie.”

At his urging, she looked around the shop. Jaime watched her eyes dart slowly from one spot to the next. “You put the shop back in the map. You promoted, advertised. Explored every avenue of putting us back on the map. This is your calling card.”

“No.” She shook her head, turning back to him. “That’s your food. You’re Jaime Lannister.”

“Jaime Lannister who only legitimate won some award once,” he said. For the first time it didn’t feel like knifing himself saying the truth. “And the new menu is because of you. You _inspired_ me, Brienne. You taught me to fight. To believe again. You made me listen and it’s one of the rightest things I’ve done in my life. You saved the shop. I don’t see how your success here can’t be replicated elsewhere.”

With every word, he hoped to heal her broken heart. He loathed being helpless, at being relegated to watching her suffer and forced into token gestures of comfort when he wanted to do more. It had only been hours since Brienne’s world had collapsed. He didn’t know if he could stomach another day of seeing her so broken. 

But he was not going anywhere.

“I believe in you. No matter how difficult it might get, I’m never going to stop believing in you,” he declared, taking her by the nape. She blinked at him, trembling from the intensity of his stare, his tone. “I love you, Brienne. I don’t know if that helps but I want you to remember that. Nothing will change that. Just like my faith in you.”

“Gods, Jaime,” she whispered, throwing her arms around his shoulders. He hugged her tightly, pulling her closer. This time he was her strength. She sighed, holding him just as fiercely. “How I love you.”

When she turned her head, he quickly caught her mouth in a kiss. Kiss by kiss, touch by touch, he hoped to mend her. Her lips were soft and in her mouth the lingering salt of her tears. She responded like a rising storm, gentle at first before she was all over him. Sweeping him up with a torrent of kisses and hands that could not touch or hold him enough. His groan was muffled by her thrusting tongue when she pulled his hand to her tits.

“Brienne,” he whispered, pulling away for a moment to catch his breath. To look at her flushed face. Her eyes were half-closed. Her fingers fluttered to his lips and he kissed each tip reverently. She pressed her forehead to his, her warm breath bathing his face. He squeezed her tits through the sweater dress, making her bite her lip and undulate against him.

“Please,” Her voice was a husky, ragged sound. She opened her eyes fully, revealing blue orbs nearly black with desire. With her swollen mouth and the want naked in her eyes, she looked almost beautiful. His heart raced when she drew his hand down. Past her stomach. Between her thighs. Under her skirt. He slipped his hand to her pussy. She was soaked.

He cupped her tightly, nearly staggered by the whiplash of possessiveness and relief. 

“Will you fuck me?” She gasped. She blinked at him. Clinging to his shoulders, trapping his hand between her hard, massive thighs, she begged, “ _Jaime._ Fuck me. Please. _Please?_ ”

She should never have to beg him. He nodded, finding the band of her tights to tug it down. She let out a sob and kissed him on the cheek before hugging him. He buried his face in the arc between her neck and shoulder.

“Fuck me,” she repeated. “When-when you’re with me—when you’re _inside_ me. . .nothing hurts.”

*******  
Brienne hardly felt the pain exploding in her skull when Jaime slammed her against the wall. They kissed and touched as if in a fight, each determined to win. She buried her fingers in his hair as their tongues tangled. He wrapped one of her legs around his hip and pressed his cock to her spread slit.

Even with clothes she felt all of Jaime. Warm skin. Firm body. The rapid thump of his heart against her breast. She raised her arms so he could tug the sweater dress off, leaving her in the slip, thick tights, underwear and boots. Grabbing her by the tits, coupled with harsh pulls of a nipple with his fingers, he resumed the hot, sweet assault of her mouth. She wailed in response, thrusting against him. She yanked at the strings of his apron. Cupped his cock through his trousers.

He pulled her from the wall, tucking an arm under her bent leg. They moved as if in a tango, him leading and her letting him drag her. This time he was leaning against one of the empty tables, hands braced on the edge as she bruised his mouth with one hard kiss after the next.

In Jaime’s arms, nothing could touch her. She was not only alive. She was safe. She was loved. She was home.

His trousers and underwear fell in one swoop and he kicked off his clogs. She would have fallen to her knees—her mouth was already open to take his cock—but he seized her face. She gasped from the heat of his eyes. They glowed as she imagined the mythical wildfyre would—gold spilling into emerald. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she kissed him again, not wanting to be apart from him, even by touch, let alone the span of one breath. Kissing, touching each other, his hand wrestling with the impossible strength of her tights, they spun in the shop.

Though lost in his fiery kisses, she heard the loud snap of fabric, and then something billowing at the corner of her eye.

“Here.” He whispered, breaking away from their kiss to lower her to the floor. She turned to find that a tablecloth was now spread there. She pulled him down with her, taking his lips again. He tasted of sugar and his scent—he seemed bathed in vanilla, flour, more sugar and sweat. He grunted falling on top of her but didn’t break away from the kiss. She sighed in relief.

It seemed she was hit with a great, insatiable thirst. She wanted to burrow in his arms and just stay there forever. She closed her eyes from gentle fire of his lips brushing her throat. How could she want someone this much? And with each kiss, she scaled a new level of need for Jaime. Her heart was a hard, rapid drum that seemed to be _all_ of her. She heard it. Felt it. She was _it_. Her beating heart. There were no words to accurately describe the feeling, but she found meaning in his kisses, in the softness of his gaze. Catching her breath, she reveled in the love searing from his gaze.

Yes. As long as Jaime was there, she was safe. She was alright. Everything was going to be alright.

She drowned in all the sensations his kisses and body bestowed on her. His rough beard fire on the soft, freckled skin of her throat. The supple skin of his shoulders when her hands slipped under his shirt, feeling the flex and sinew of muscle. He coaxed the slip over her head, leaving her arms momentarily trapped in it while his lips took her nipples. She wailed and gasp through his greedy suckles. Blushed from the sound of his wet kisses. When she managed to free her arms, she grabbed his ass. Firm and high, she squeezed the cheeks while rubbing her cunt against his cock. Silken juice dripped from her slit and on the tablecloth. He groaned, inhaling sharply as the musk of her arousal hit the air.

He started devouring her tits, mouth closing around each mound.

“Please don’t stop,” she begged, a tear falling from her eye just from imagining a world without Jaime. She watched him raise his head from her tits. She cupped his face, gazing at him. “Jaime, do you know how much I love you?”

The magnitude of her feelings. . .there was no way to measure it. There was no scale that could come close to knowing. But it was not uncertain. Nor unknown. It was something only her soul could grasp. She hoped to discover the depths of this love each day she was with him.

“No one loves you as much as I love you,” he whispered, kissing her on the palms swiftly before taking her mouth again. Their bodies rocked into each other. She felt him battling with her tights again until they finally ripped. A hard tug at the edge of her panties ripped them too and she thought she saw their ragged bits flung in the air. Cool air kissed the sodden curls of her cunt, caused her clit to stiffen and thrust through the gleaming folds. Then he was back in her arms, hissing for her to wrap her legs around him. She obeyed, letting out another sob at the overwhelming pleasure of just having his hard shaft rubbing her clit. The tip teasing her slit.

“I love you more,” she cried out when he released her mouth to cover the rest of her body with more kisses.

“Not possible, wench. Not fucking possible.” And then his fingers were suddenly in her cunt, drawing a sharp cry from her. She whimpered and clutched at him, reveling in the violence of his thrusts in her cunt. _How was it so good?_ “Tell me. _Brienne._ Tell me I’m the only man to make you so fucking wet. So fucking wet you’re flooding my hand. _Tell me._ ”

She blushed hearing the squelch and wet smacking sounds of his fingers thrusting in her cunt. She wished to be spread and take all of him in. To be turned inside-out. It didn’t make sense but by the gods, with Jaime, it felt right. _It was so fucking right._

“You,” she moaned. “No one else, Jaime. You. Only you.”

He yelled her name. Startled, her thighs closed around his hand. He pushed them apart, withdrew his fingers. In the next instant, Brienne was screaming from his mouth’s hungry, rough drags of her clit.

Her spine arched off the ground as he slurped her clit. She groaned, pinching her tight, pointy nipples. Jaime released her clit to spread her cunt wider with his fingers. He buried his tongue deep, rubbing his bearded face against her cunt, scraping her thighs deliciously. As his name left in a strangled chain of need and surrender from her throat, her eyes bored on the door.

The door with the screen drawn halfway down.

Where from the slit a familiar face she had come to hate peeped. Watching.

“No!” She suddenly shouted, horrified. _“Renly!”_

“What the fuck—” Jaime growled, looking murderous at the mention of another man’s name. But he saw the distress on her face, her eyes on the door. He turned and yelled. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“He-He saw us,” she whimpered, whimpered, angry and horrified that something intimate and so private was being witnessed by the person she hated the most. Jaime shot to his feet, hair and shirt rumpled, furious as he stormed to the door. His cock, high and erect bobbed at every step. “Is that Renly Baratheon?”

“Yes. Jaime, wait—” Brienne scrambled for something to cover her body, but Jaime was quick. He yanked the door open and grabbed Renly by the collar.

“Hey—don’t—come on—” Renly sputtered as he was flung like a rag doll to the wall.

Shaken, Brienne could only stare as Jaime fisted Renly's tie, drawing it tight on the neck. She moved then and Jaime turned to her. His fury made her freeze.

"The things I do for love," he growled before glaring at Renly again. He drew back his fist then slammed it right on Renly's nose.

 _“Jaime!”_ Brienne screamed, covering her ears uselessly from the sound of cracking bone. Renly’s eyes widened at seeing her bare tits and cunt. She turned red but continued clutching at her ears. _He’s going to hurt himself._ “Jaime, don’t!”

As Renly groaned and tried to avoid the punches Jaime rained on his face, Brienne frantically looked around. Her slip was nowhere to be found. Her torn underwear was near the cash register. Her sweater dress had somehow ended up hanging from the light fixture on the ceiling. As her stomach rolled from the sound of tearing skin and cracking bone, she threw on the tablecloth instead.

She turned just in time to see Renly fling his hands to his face and suddenly cower to the floor. Jaime was terrifying to look at. Face drawn in a tight scowl, fist curled for another punch. The huge, angry erection from between his thighs.

“No more,” Renly pleaded pathetically, covering his head this time and curling into his body. “Oh gods, no more. Please.”

“Little piece of shit,” Jaime hissed, suddenly spitting at him. Then he suddenly grabbed Renly by the collar again, making the other man yell. He threw him through the door, out into the street and followed him.

“Jaime!” She yelped when they took the fight outside. She grabbed his trousers and ran out. “It’s cold! Your pants!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Renly yelled, staggering. There were still people walking about and the commotion was beginning to attract attention. Brienne cringed as someone whipped out a phone and start recording. She clutched at Jaime’s trousers helplessly. “Brienne, get this fucking pit full off me!”

“Stay inside, Brienne.” Jaime growled. He looked ready to murder him with his bare hands. “I’m not done with pretty boy.”

“No, Jaime. Don’t!” Brienne got between them, clutching the tablecloth to her body. It was beginning to slip. It didn’t take much effort to get him to look at her and urge him back towards the shop. “I don’t want you hurt. I love you but I don’t want you hurt. Please, Jaime. _Please_.”

Her eyes were big, showing her genuine fear over the possibility of him being harmed. “I love you, but I don’t want you hurt. _Please._ ”

He looked at her then glared at Renly. He was literally a bloody mess and his shirt was torn. He also had the audacity to look betrayed. “Who the fuck is this guy, Brienne? And you love him?”

Jaime started to move again, and Brienne stopped him with a hand to his chest. People still had their phones out. “Don’t,” she whispered to him. “Let me take care of this.”

He hesitated then nodded. As he stepped back, he realized the audience they’d attracted. He only had to snarl under his breath and make a threatening advance for people to put away their phones and hurry back to their lives. Relieved, Brienne hugged him briefly and kissed him on the cheek.

“You’re sure about this?” He muttered, glaring at Renly, who was struggling to his feet.

She nodded and squeezed his hand. “I’ll be okay.”

She tried handing him his trousers, but Jaime continued to glower at Renly. Renly was clearly trying not to stare at his cock, but Jaime clearly didn’t care.

“Will you. . .will you wait for me inside? Jaime?”

He looked ready to protest but nodded, finally taking the trousers. He didn’t look too happy but turned to go back to the shop. Brienne and Renly stared at his ass, clearly marked red and purple from the grip of her fingers. When she turned back to Renly, he was shaking his head at her.

“I was going to take you back.”

“Excuse me?”

Renly fixed his clothes and looked at her. He sniffed. “I never stopped caring for you, Brienne. I was a piece of shit, but I was only doing my job. It was nothing personal.”

Appalled, Brienne thought about calling Jaime back to beat him again but changed her mind. “Nothing personal? You tell me you cared for me but took part in screwing me over the promotion! Renly, you were fucking me and stole a campaign I worked for!”

“I didn’t have a choice—”

“Yes you did! And you come here telling me you’ve come to take me back? What makes you think I want you back?” She was shaking, shocked and sickened at his entitlement, his arrogance. His lack of remorse. “Who the fuck would want you?”

“I came here to tell you I forgive you over the stunt with the flowers.” He gave a snort. “Never expected that from you, Brienne. But I understand why.”

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness, you fucking bastard. _I don’t want you._ I don’t want anything from you.” Brienne growled. “You don’t think I know about the emails you blocked? That you’ve been smearing my name to other agencies?”

Renly paled but shook his head. “No. No that wasn’t me.”

“I don’t fucking believe you. There’s nothing you can say that will make me believe you. It’s over, Renly. It’s been fucking over for a long time. I don’t want you. You disgust me.”

“You’re clearly not above spreading your legs on a dirty shop floor.”

“I’d spread my legs anywhere as long as it isn’t for you. You make me sick.”

Renly scoffed, “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.” Brienne declared. She couldn’t believe that she’d let this _worm_ touch her. Fuck her. Fool her. _Destroyed her._ “You must think me a fucking idiot to let you fuck me again after what you’ve done. You fucked with my career. And if you really want me, why did it take you this long? Oh yes. See, I know you got fired today.”

She didn’t mask her triumph at Renly’s surprise. “I know you’re here, claiming to want me back, because you and I know that without me, whatever you’re planning next isn’t going to happen. You’re a no-good sack of nothing, Renly. You deserve everything terrible that’s happened to you. You deserve so much more.”

“This isn’t you at all, Brienne. You were never this bitter.”

“No. No, I’m not bitter.” This time, she went to him. He backed away, clearly expecting to take another hit. Instead, she just stared at him. She felt nothing for the man. No love. No hate. He was a stranger. Perhaps he had always been.

“All that I am is sorry. Sorry to have met you. Sorry to have cared for you. I’m sorry I let you touch me and fuck me. I’m sorry Jaime isn’t here to break your jaw,” she said, looking at his bleeding nose pointedly. Renly flinched and looked away briefly before turning back to her.

“I’m sorry that someone like you lives, Renly.”

Spoken softly, her words had more impact. Renly’s shock and white face was a sweet reward.

“I-I can sue,” he stammered. “Your—” he flung a hateful look at the shop— “that fucker attacked me without provocation.”

“You were spying. He defended me. Spying on us in a place we own. You can do whatever you want, Renly. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re a waste of space. I’m sorry for whoever else has to lay their eyes on you. You’re poison. There is no good in you.”

She turned away. Her name fell from his lips in a pathetic whimper, a plea. She kept moving until she was closing the door of the shop. Pulling the rest of the screen down. Jaime stood by the counter, looking a lot more calm but still leonine and the promise of ferocity in his eyes. He still wore only his shirt.

“Jaime,” she whispered, rushing to him.

“Come here,” he murmured, meeting her halfway. Their bodies met in a hard, crushing embrace. She sank against him. “Wench, are you okay?”

She nodded and looked at him. “I love you so much.” She returned to his embrace. Her face pressed on his neck, she whispered, “Jaime, you’re everything that’s good and perfect. I don’t ever want to imagine a world without you. I love you. I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops. Posted the wrong draft. What you're reading now is the correct version. Thank you for reading!


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t feel like your partner. I’m your boyfriend, Brienne. I don’t just fuck you. There are other things I can do for you that doesn’t involve my cock. I feel like. . .” He flushed, rubbing his temples as he grappled with how to say it. He looked at her and took a deep breath. “I feel like a stud. Your stud.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I just logged back in after several weeks of absence. I'm so sorry for not having replied to any comments yet but allow me to use this opportunity to say my thanks and assurance I'll reply to every one of them. I'm working on a deadline right now, that's why I haven't been on.
> 
> Anyway, here's the latest update! This turned out differently than I initially planned.

Work and more work for Brienne, Jaime discovered several days following the altercation, was the cure. Idleness made the wench withdrawn. It dulled her bright eyes. A flurry of activity put color on her cheeks, and also fury and determination in her eyes. Her advertising career was ashes at the moment, but she was going to rise like an avenging phoenix.

The words of a besotted man and also someone who’d had a ringside seat to her dogged persistence in putting The Sapphire Patisserie back on its feet. Valid opinions.

Thanks to social media, the shop was always mentioned, averaging several hundred likes and shares per hour. Brienne also maintained official social media accounts and through shares offered incentives such as a free three-piece box of wenches if a person was the twentieth to share a post, for example. Print media such as newspapers and magazines have written glowing reviews about the revamped menu, the imaginative choices. Several had already done profiles on Jaime, much to his annoyance.

He loathed attention. He barely tolerated an interview although Brienne’s presence helped. He just believed that if there was to be any attention connected to him, it should focus on his work and the shop, not on his “penetrating dreamy emerald gaze” as one gushing profile described him. It was frankly disgusting. And embarrassing.

But not as embarrassing as the shitfest of the cellphone video of his fistfight with Renly Baratheon.

He was a beneficiary of the flurry of the wench’s endless activities. She had asked him to start preparing a holiday menu, and also wanted his thoughts on decorating the shop for Sevenfest. And what did he think about partnering with a shelter or making donations to the sept? They had also introduced to the regular menu the raspberry-filled pastry Jaime had made as a homage to her cunt.

Called pillow puffs, they were an instant hit. Customers liked the light, flaky shell and coconut topping. The boldness of the raspberry filling, made at the shop, was a sweet and delightful surprise.

Along with orders from offices and companies nearby or in other areas of the city, inquiries about Jaime’s half-naked brawl also kept the phone line busy. Brienne had refused every interview and instructed staff to do the same. The grainy cellphone video had so far garnered close to two million hits and still growing. There was no money to hire a lawyer to intervene but Jaime, the Seven bless him, saw the silver lining: nearly all comments were about the impressive size of his cock. They’ve had _triple_ the number of customers following the incident.

Most men would be proud of it, but Jaime was embarrassed. He was relieved that Brienne refused to pile on by granting an interview and at her advice, he’d pretty much limited his presence in the kitchen. Jon was also tasked to sign for deliveries since their suppliers had questions too. He would have hired a lawyer to deal with the video but he didn’t have the funds for it. Neither did Brienne. All they could really hope for was for the interest in his cock size to die down.

Jaime didn’t mind being in the kitchen. It was a second home to him. Brienne spent more time in the office too because when she did her front of house duty she was also barraged by rude customers about the video.

He loved watching the wench in action. He found it cute how she nibbled her lip when browsing a list, and how she could get so fucking passionate and soulful when talking about profits. He also liked the little frown lines between her thick eyebrows when she was stressed. It was the perfect excuse to seek her in the office, hug her from behind and warm her nape with kisses. Or when he was being particularly naughty, squeeze her tits through her shirt or cup her pussy. These touches _should_ lead to fucking, but it was too cold to be out in the alley now. She welcomed his fondles and took his kisses but refused to fuck in the office during work hours. Or even the bathroom.

Since the night of the fight of the fight with Renly, she had been. . .for lack of a better word, a sexual tornado.

A woman you wanted and wanted you back was always sexy. Add love to the recipe and it made you feel invincible. A conquering warrior. A hero. Jaime didn’t mind that he often initiated touches and fucking with Brienne. When he touched her at work, he enjoyed her furious blushes and the outraged silver flash of her eyes, but she always kissed him back. Moaned her approval as her panties hit the ground—the few times they survived intact.

Now she snuck teasing, playful caresses with him at work, sapphire eyes blinking with exaggerated innocence while sliding a hand down his chest, his stomach, or when she whispered in his ear the things he could do to her in the walk-in freezer. He enjoyed it at first—he still did. But because she walked around with that dreamy and sex-crazed look, he struggled to concentrate because all he wanted was to fuck her. All that stopped him from taking her on one of the tables in full view of their employees was common decency.

Once they were home, Brienne was _unleashed_. Tackling him like a wildcat, going for his throat with kisses rather than teeth. He was in her mouth or cloaked in the warmth of her pussy by the next breath. She seemed immune to rug burns as she rode him on the floor. His back was stiff and his ass sore from fucking on hardwood floors, but it never stopped him from riding between her legs either.

You didn’t have to take a deep whiff of their bedroom to detect the smell of fucking. The comforter was stiff from all the semen and juices they’d spilled. Jaime was exhausted too. They were fucking so much they hardly slept. While he yawned through meetings and instructions to the staff, and struggled to remain on his feet at work, Brienne blossomed. There was a new lift to her limp hair, a new sheen to the dull, rough-looking surface. Her blotchy skin had a dewy quality that made her look fresher and younger. Harsh as the light was in the shop kitchen, she was almost beautiful.

On Friday night, Brienne’s wrists strained against the silken ties binding them to the bedpost. Her grunt of release was a harsh, animalistic sound. Jaime threw his head back, shouting throatily as semen squirted in her pussy. He slammed hard into her for a final rough ride. On and on the headboard bumped against the wall. Steel legs scraped on the floor. As his tongue fucked her mouth, neighbors living next door and the floor under him tapped the walls and ceiling.

Jaime pushed inside Brienne one more time, yanking a guttural scream from her. He cut off the sound with another hard, slobbery kiss. She tasted of sweat and saliva. At last he slumped on her chest, limp yet smirking. His harsh breathing caused her tight nipple to point harder. Above him, her lips pressed kisses on his sweat-damp hair. Her slick legs unwrapped from around his back.

The wench was so warm and strong. Her tits were too small to be pillows but they skin was soft, and the nipples even more. He tongued one lazily, satisfied that it drew a deep, sharp inhale from her. He hovered between wakefulness and sleep, the latter drawing him stronger. But her nonsense whimpers were too sexy. Well worth struggling to stay awake for. Sucking firmly on a nipple, he looked at her with half-closed eyes. “Hmm, wench?”

“Jaime.” She was red and looked a little panicked. “I need to pee.”

He chuckled and freed her. She was off the bed as soon as he’d rolled to the other side, watching her long, muscular legs take her to the bathroom. To his disappointment, she shut the door. Then he heard the squeak of the sink turned on followed by the rush of water.

“Wench, what the fuck’s the water for? I already know you’re peeing,” he called out, bundling himself under the warm, comforter. It was damp from their sweat too. Her spot on the bed was also warm and moist. He sniffed her pillow with a smile.

“You don’t need to hear it,” she replied.

He moved to lay on his back, head still turned to the bathroom door. She was taking her time. He so wanted to watch her go out the bathroom and head back to bed. To look at her wet, hairy pussy approaching him, her thick, hard thighs. But he was too tired and soon fell asleep.

It seemed to last for only a minute or just a little more because all too soon, he found himself roused by Brienne’s soft, tentative licks of his cock. He sighed, smothering a groan from the sight of her messy head slowly moving up and down between his thighs. He very much wanted to sleep but her mouth was, literally, a greater pull.

There was something obscene yet also beautiful with how wide she could open her big mouth, and the sight of her long tongue circling the cockhead while long, thick fingers worked on the foreskin up and down his length. The amount of her saliva was copious, dripping all over his cock and wetting his thighs. Still massaging him, she lowered her head further. He arched, crying out her name when she sucked his balls.

It didn’t take long to feel that familiar tightening in the small of his back. He pushed her hands away. One hand knotting around her hair, with the other he rubbed himself furiously, directing the squirt of his semen into her mouth. Gods, he refused to miss the sight of this—Brienne obediently keeping her mouth open, a soft, worshipful look on her red face. She only closed her mouth once a little pool had formed. He watched her swallow, lick her lips. Some semen dripped down her chin, her throat.

She was beautiful.

He dragged her down the bed, locking an arm around her waist as he took her slick lips and tasted himself. He couldn’t kiss her as hard, as roughly, because he was barely awake, but he couldn’t resist _this._ She ruffled his hair, wrapped a heavy leg around his hip. And this was the last thing he remembered before truly falling asleep—the slow, sensuous movement of Brienne’s mouth under him, her tongue matching him thrust for thrust, her body softly undulating against him.

An hour passed. Maybe two. But soon Jaime found himself awake again. He squinted at the glare from the light in the bathroom. Brienne was there. Standing by the sink, one leg hooked over it as she splashed water on her pussy. He rubbed his eyes to admire the long line of her back, her Evenstar tattoo just above her cute little butt. His gaze lingered on her legs the longest.

He closed his eyes as she turned off the faucet. Heard her switch off the light and pad back to the bed. He sensed her watching him as she slipped under the sheets. “Jaime?” She whispered.

“Hmm?”

She gently bumped her knee against him. “Do you want to. . .?”

If he was getting more than a couple of hours of sleep and wasn’t slammed conceptualizing the holiday menu, on top of meeting the increasing demand of pastries following the posting of that fucking video with Renly, he would most definitely want. Gods, she didn’t even have to ask.

There were a lot of things she didn’t have to ask of him. But it was beginning to feel like she only needed him for one thing. _That_ one thing. It was not as thrilling now. In fact, he was beginning to chafe at just the idea. Perhaps it was exhaustion making him sensitive, but he was more than his cock.

“Brienne,” he opened his eyes, easily finding her face because the faint light of the moon fell right on her. He thumbed her lips and she kissed him. “Isn’t there more you want from me?”

“Maybe midnight pancakes,” she said, cuddling against him. He took a deep breath as her knee suggestively inched up to his hardening cock. “But there’s something I definitely want more of first.”

Then her mouth was on him. Soft, puffy, warm. It was the easiest thing to give in and that was exactly why Jaime knew he had to stop this. Kissing Brienne and giving in were two things that should never be put together. He sighed in frustration as her lips brushed his cheek and returned to his mouth. Her hand was already on his cock. Fingers massaging foreskin. Though he knew stopping her was the right thing to do, it still hurt him to do so.

“Jaime?” She frowned. “Is anything the matter?”

It was now or never.

Jaime sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp. They groaned from the burning glare, immediately turning away from the light. But Brienne switched on hers too and squinted at him.

Despite his annoyance, seeing her with rumpled hair and one cheek lined with creases from the pillow softened his heart. He propped the pillows against the headboard and leaned on them. She did the same, looking at him curiously.

“Nothing should be the matter,” he admitted. “But I’m beginning to feel. . .”

“What?” She asked when he was quiet for several seconds.

“Wench,” he reached for her hand. “I need to sleep. I did the math. I’ve slept for less than eighteen hours in the last three days.”

“Oh. Jaime.” She clucked her tongue. “I’m sorry. Less than eighteen hours?” 

He nodded, rubbing his eyes. “I want to fuck you. You just felt it. I _don’t_ want to stop fucking you. But lately it’s been. . .it’s been really nonstop. I’m not complaining. You know how much I like keeping my cock in you.” He caressed her cheek to assure her it was the truth. She blushed and nodded. “I think. . .we need to sleep. I need to sleep. Especially since I’ll be up in a few hours to put the final touches on Ellaria’s cakes. And then we’re off to the party.”

“I understand,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “I’m sorry I’ve been. . .insatiable.”

“ _Never_ apologize for that.” He said quickly. “On that note. . .”

She tensed. “What else?”

“I don’t feel like your partner. I’m your boyfriend, Brienne. I don’t just fuck you. There are other things I can do for you that doesn’t involve my cock. I feel like. . .” He flushed, rubbing his temples as he grappled with how to say it. He looked at her and took a deep breath. “I feel like a stud. Your stud.”

“Oh gods.” She shook her head. “Jaime, no.”

“Yes,” he continued. “It can’t be said enough—I enjoy fucking you, Brienne. I don’t want to stop fucking you. I love it that you’re an insatiable wench who’s always creaming her panties. But lately it seems the only thing on the menu is fucking. I’m with you because I don’t want to just fuck you.”

“Jaime—” Brienne looked like she’d been whammed on the head. She was clearly trying to absorb and understand everything he’d just said. He saw the emotions scud across her face—confusion, surprise, mortification, remorse. When she finally looked at him, he saw love.

“I love you,” she declared, touching him on the cheek. He kept her hand there. “I love you in ways that I continue to discover each day I’m with you. You’re. . .you know you’re the best sex I’ve had but it doesn’t mean that’s all I see in you. I don’t want to just fuck you.”

“I know, wench.”

“I admit I’ve been. . .” She reddened, lowering her head before squaring her shoulders to look at him again. “I’ve been cock-mad lately, that’s true. When I’m with you. . .when you’re in me. . .”

“Nothing hurts,” he finished. He kissed her hand and continued hold it to his cheek.

“Nothing hurts,” she repeated, nodding. “And—and rather than doing something about it I’ve been. . .I made a stud out of you. Oh gods.” Her hands suddenly flew to her mouth. The she scowled, lowering her hands. She looked disgusted. “I’m no better than them, aren’t I?”

“Who? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Those women,” she whispered, hanging her head and looking ashamed. “You know. That Margaery. And the redhead.”

 _“What?”_ His roar made her jump. He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Brienne, you are nothing like them. Any of them!”

“But how I’d behaved. How I treated you—”

“None of them loved me,” he growled, giving her a shake. “ None of them cared for me, protected me, saved me. None of them pushed me to believe in myself. We wouldn’t be having this discussion if you hadn’t been stubborn about it, wench. How the fuck could you think you have something in common with them?”

He was appalled. Brienne was unlike anyone he’d ever met in his life. Nobody came close to her tenacity. The strength and softness of her heart. The beauty of her eyes. Her soul.

“I can’t believe none of them saw that there’s so much more about you,” she muttered to herself. She turned to him, her distress evident. He moved closer to her, this time cradling her cheek. She sighed and stared at him. “How did you do that for so long, Jaime? Being with people who only wanted one thing from you. Who made no effort or had the slightest interest in seeing you’re a lot more.”

“Because I didn’t care for them in the slightest. It was a transaction, wench. I gave them cock and they helped me keep the shop.”

“They used you. They took advantage.”

“I let myself be used. What choice did I have?”

She made a pained sound and he kissed her. “Brienne, it’s all in the past. It’s over. And I don’t want you thinking you’re like those women. You’re not.” He cupped her face in both hands and looked hard in her eyes. “Don’t you know why?”

A small smile touched her lips. “You love me.”

“That’s right. I love you.”

She touched his chest. “I’m sorry you felt like you were a stud service. I was running away from pain.”

“You’d be mad to welcome it. Wench, when I fuck you. . .it’s different. I wish it goes on forever. It’s not just because we love each other why it’s different. There’s something else. Perhaps we’re too human to name it but being human sure helps to try making sense of it. Somehow. Still, it’s only with you I feel this.”

“I’ve never felt anything like it before either. Only with you,” she said, leaning her forehead on his. “I love you so much, Jaime. You’re the best person I know.”

He leaned on her chest as she embraced him. Strong, solid, warm Brienne.

“Jaime? There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask,” she said after a moment. He looked up at her. She was troubled again.

“Tell me.”

“I know I should have asked sooner about it but. . .I’ve been cock-mad. It’s about the video.” She squeezed his hand. “Forgive me, but I’ve been too scared to ask you about it. How. . .how are you feeling?”

No wonder she didn’t know how to broach the subject. He didn’t want to talk about it but a part of him was glad that she was brave enough to ask him. He was used to going away inside, and with the video he had gone away inside further and further. But now she was reeling him back.

“It’s helping with the sales,” was all he could say.

“Fuck sales and profits, Jaime. I’d close the shop until the issue goes away if that’s what you want.”

He blinked at her. “You’re not serious.”

“Of course I am. We have a loan to pay off, that’s true, but if it requires. . .hurting you, then no. We’ll just find another way to settle it.”

“I am uncomfortable,” he admitted. “But as long as I stay in the kitchen, I can’t be bothered. You’d really do that, won’t you?” He probed, seeing the determination in her eyes. “Close the shop. Protect me again.”

“I protect you, I protect us.” She said simply. “If we had the funds we can get a lawyer to at least make it illegal to share the video. But we don’t. All we can hope for is people soon get bored by it.”

“They will” he promised, taking her in his arms this time. He loved how she curved her body to rest her head on his shoulder. “Wench,” he whispered, “you have to stop protecting me, sometimes. I’m not made of glass.”

“Oh, you don’t need protecting,” she whispered back, kissing him on the lips. “But didn’t you say before I’m your knight? I’m only fulfilling sacred vows made to you, ser.”

He chuckled. Holding her tightly, he lowered them back on the bed. She was heavy and he was sure to break his ribs if she didn’t ease off him soon, but he liked the feel of her too much to be greatly bothered.

“A wench knight,” he said, smiling as she kept kissing him. “That’s a first. But only mine.”

*******  
Every person on the invite list showed up for Ellaria and Oberyn’s engagement party, and in full costume. Though the theme was ‘kinky Dornish,’ the gauzy fabrics strung on the walls and the plush carpets that hushed footsteps made for a sensual, tasteful atmosphere.

They had clearly gone all out. Even the service staff was in a modified version of Dornish attire. Done entirely in a shade of soft peach, both men and women wore the same fitted, sleeveless tops. Loose linen trousers for the men and long straights skirts with slits on the sides for the women. They walked around serving champagne and various canapes.

Oberyn and Ellaria didn’t wear outfits that matched exactly but rather shared design elements. Oberyn’s trousers were done in soft, nude gold with a snake-like print. Ellaria wore a similarly-patterned fabric as a sleeveless cropped top. For her bottoms she wore gauzy, voluminous gold pants. Oberyn had opted for a tan shirt shot with subtle gold detail. He left it open at the neck.

Standing together, each with dark hair, black eyes, and smooth, olive complexions, , they made a striking couple despite the array of color and the flurry of sparkling, sexy clothes around them. The air was rich with the aroma of spices and delicious food. But the highlight were the cakes Jaime had created especially for the occasion.

Brienne couldn’t stop smiling as Oberyn and Ellaria walked Jaime through the crowd, loudly proclaiming he was the person behind the cakes. He had narrowly avoided being scandalous and tacky—the two cakes were in the shape of tits and a penis at full mast. But because of their strawberry vanilla and chocolate cherry icings, along with the muted colors of gold and peach Jaime had used on other elements of the design, the result was a luscious-looking, mouthwatering pastry.

She had to stifle a laugh when she caught Jaime obviously looking for her. He found her easily—she was the tallest though the sandals she wore were just half an inch high.

“Help,” he mouthed while Oberyn and Ellaria launched into their excited spiel about the cakes for the nth time.

She shook her head and raised her glass at him. He rolled his eyes.

Ellaria saw their exchange and grinned at Brienne, blowing her a kiss. Holding her gaze, she next made a crude, sexual gesture, pointing at her then at Jaime. Brienne gasped and immediately hid her blush by downing the champagne in a single gulp.

A short while later, standing by the table laden with canapes, with the two kinky cakes at the center, Ellaria sought Brienne. Brienne shook her head as Ellaria beamed at her.

“I’m going to kill you,” she said before gesturing at the little plate she had filled with some canapes. “Thank the gods you have delicious food.”

“Are you sure Jaime would like hearing you say food he didn’t make is delicious?” Ellaria teased.

“There’s a difference between delicious and perfect,” Brienne replied, nibbling on a skewered deep-fried olive. She smiled and nodded suddenly. “Speaking of perfect, you are. You just are.”

Ellaria’s black eyes were almost golden from pleasure at her words. “Hmm. I’m beginning to have second thoughts about Oberyn.” As they laughed, she added, “Jaime’s right. Blue is your color.”

“Thanks,” Brienne murmured, glancing at her outfit. Because she was conscious about exposing so much skin and freckles, she had to improvise her otherwise skimpy outfit. The sapphire blue teddy she was wearing was the purchase she had made with Ellaria. It was sleeveless with a neckline that plunged to her navel. She added black garters and stockings, covered up with a sheer, floor-length robe of the same color. Jaime had styled her hair into a kind of post-fuck fluff and tousle.

“He told me to make sure you get blue,” Ellaria continued. “I don’t usually take the advice of men with clothes but it’s clear he’s brilliant with that too. Oh, hang on,” she held out a slim arm and took two glasses of champagne from a server that materialized at her side.

“Wonderful.” Brienne put the plate down and took the other glass from her.

“To this night of great love.”

“Indeed.”

They toasted and sipped the champagne. Ellaria put her glass away and looked around. “I can’t fucking believe there was a major leak here a couple of months ago.”

“I was going to ask. What’s the damage?”

“A couch, a coffee table and some vintage cameras of Oberyn’s. You know how in love he is with them.”

“I can imagine it was also rough on you.”

“Not really. The damage was significant, but luckily the repairs didn’t take too long. At least we didn’t have to look for a new apartment. We love it here. It’s home. It’s not just perfect but it’s us.” Ellaria bumped her gently on the shoulder. “What about you and Jaime? Any plans to live under the same roof soon?”

“What?” Brienne almost choked on the potato cakes with smoked salmon and cream cheese. “We haven’t been together long. We’re still getting to know each other.”

“It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together, Brienne. When it’s right, it’s just right. My question is, do you think Jaime _is_ right?”

And together, their eyes zoomed in on the man in question. He was surrounded by Oberyn and other guests. All stared at him with rapt attention although Jaime looked as comfortable as if he was being interrogated. But they clearly had questions and he was answering them.

That was the thing with Jaime, Brienne thought, feeling that familiar flutter in her heart. No matter how much he disliked something, when it was the right thing to do, he did it himself. He was a man who did get backed into a corner, but he would never stop trying to find a way out of it. If it required going through the eye of the needle, he dived in. What others interpreted as desperate, to Brienne, his actions were that of a man who faced the storm. He didn’t always win. Sometimes he gave up. But he carried on.

“I don’t have to think that to know the answer,” she said to Ellaria. “But the living situation, I honestly don’t know. We’ve never talked about it.”

“You still like fuck like rabbits on death row every night?”

Brienne blushed and finished her champagne. Ellaria grinned and helped herself to tomato bruschetta from Brienne’s plate.

“I don’t think fucking is reason enough to start living together, Ellaria.”

“It is to me. I’ve been lucky,” she said, gazing at Oberyn softly. “The man who’s the best fuck of my life is also the man I’m so in love with. But we don’t fuck as much as you and Jaime do. Don’t deny it. I just know. Where on earth do you get the stamina?”

“Jaime is actually a sex robot.”

“So the cock in the video isn’t real?”

Brienne stiffened and asked, “Uh, Ellaria, let’s. . .let’s not mention anything about the video to Jaime, okay? He’s really embarrassed by it.”

“Oh.” Ellaria paled and patted her hand. “I’m sorry. Of course.”

“Thanks.”

They finished their champagne then Ellaria said, “Hey, I have to tell you something. Let’s go to the bedroom.”

They wove their way to the crowd. Along the way, friends complimented Ellaria on the theme, her outfit, congratulated her on the engagement. But she looked at Brienne with relief while opening the door to the bedroom. As showy as she was, it was clear she wasn’t too keen on a lot of attention either.

“What do you have to tell me that it has to be here?” Brienne asked as they cleared away some of the coats on the bed to sit down. She gasped. “Are you pregnant?”

“No! Please.” Ellaria sat down breezily and looked at her. “First I have to ask. Do you have any plans after the party? Tomorrow?”

“Sleeping and laundry. Nothing special. Why?”

Ellaria smiled hugely. “After the party Oberyn and I are eloping to Lys. We want you and Jaime to come with us.”

_“What?”_

“We realized a huge part of why we’ve not bothered to have an engagement party until now is just how much we hate having a crowd like the one out there. Make no mistake, we love parties but between his family and mine, and then our friends, we’re looking at a huge wedding. Which we really don’t like. We want a wedding that’s _us_.”

“I—I understand.” Brienne was floored from the news. She blinked rapidly to focus on her. “But do you really have to elope?”

“We adore the idea. We’re dressed the way we want—can’t you think of anything more heinous than some tulle gown or whatever the fuck wedding dresses are made of these days, or a tux?” Ellaria made a face. She took her hands and looked at her pleadingly. “Please, sweetheart. Say yes. I want my best friend there. Oberyn’s brother will be the best man but I thought maybe Jaime could be the one to give me away?”

“Of course I’ll be there!” Brienne exclaimed. “There’s no way you’re getting married without me.”

Ellaria squealed and threw her arms around her. Brienne laughed and hugged her tightly. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispered. “Oberyn’s a great guy. But he’d better love you more than life itself.”

“He is. And he does,” Ellaria promised as they pulled away from each other.

“Good. Because I won’t let you marry anyone who loves you any less.” Brienne touched her cheek, warm with happiness for her best friend. She was glad that despite the lingering hurt of her dead career, anger at Renly’s betrayal and the violation of Jaime’s privacy, there was room in her heart for genuine happiness for others. “My gods. I can’t believe it. You’re really getting married.”

“Same! But all I can think about is how right it is. Like it’s something I know beyond my gut. This is it, Brienne. Oberyn. Us. Our life.”

As they smiled and talked some more, someone knocked on the door. “Come in!” Ellaria called out. Then she grinned. “Hey, Jaime.”

“Hi,” Jaime’s smile widened upon seeing Brienne. “Sorry. I hope I’m not interrupting something?”

“You’re not,” Ellaria said. She stood up and went to him. “You don’t have any plans tomorrow, do you?”

“Nothing a lady should know,” Jaime replied with a suggestive smirk.

“Gods. Stamina.” Ellaria squeezed his biceps and winked at Brienne. “Well, I don’t know if Oberyn’s told you, but he and I are eloping after the party.”

“That’s why I’m here. He did mention something like it. And that you were hoping to talk to me too?” Jaime asked. “That’s cool, by the way. Make the wedding all about you and not, like, the guest list.”

“I fucking love him,” Ellaria declared to Brienne, who smiled. “Right. So, Brienne’s my maid of honor. Doran will be the best man. I’ve no dad. You’re a stand-up guy, Jaime. Brienne is crazy for you. I can see why. So how about being the one to give me away?”

“Really?” Jaime was startled. “You want me to do that?”

“Yeah. Doran’s too fucking square. Did you see the only guy in this shindig in a fucking suit? That’s him.”

“Yeah. I saw someone like that.”

“So what do you say?”

“Hell, yeah. I’d be happy to.” Jaime hugged her. “Thanks for inviting us.”

“Thanks for coming!” Ellaria stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “Alright. I have to go back to the party. Hang in here for a bit if you want.” And before Jaime and Brienne could say anything, she sauntered off.

“They’re really getting married?” He asked Brienne, sitting next to her on the bed.

“The news hit me like a ton of bricks but it’s happening,” she admitted, blushing as he put a hand on her thigh. In front of them was a full-length mirror. Like her, Jaime was wearing blue of the same shade. His outfit consisted of a dressing gown with a quilted black collar and matching boxer shorts. His golden chest was bare, as was his legs. As he caressed her thigh, she whispered, “You look good enough to eat.”

He chuckled and kissed her. “Not as mouthwatering as you. You’re too delectable for your own good. You’re the perfect treat, wench.”

“Sorry I left you out there,” she murmured, playing with his hair.

“Don’t worry. I’ll find a way for you to make it up to me. It was worth the torture, though. I have six orders. Tits and dicks, wench.”

“Are you alright with that?” She asked, knowing that Jaime thrived on challenges rather than doing repeats.

“It was fun. Besides I can come up with new designs. I also enjoy the process of making the tit cake.” He added, looking at her chest pointedly. She laughed and hid her burning face against his warm neck. He had based the cup size of the tit cake and the rest of its appearance on her tits—down the flecked detail of the icing in imitation of her freckles. He made the aureoles and nipples big and plump too.

“I was crazy to allow you that,” she whispered.

“Well, you absolutely refused to have the pillow puffs called pussy puffs,” he whispered, smirking.

“It’s too much. And obscene.”

“It’s perfect,” he insisted, slipping a hand between her thighs and cupping her cunt tightly. “Hmm. So warm and soft. Pillowy.”

She laughed and tried pulling his hand away. “Stop it.”

He kissed her, still pressing his hand on her cunt. She sighed dreamily while kissing him back.

“Do you know how proud I am of you? Everyday?” She asked, searching his face while cradling a firm cheek.

Holding her hand against his face, he said disbelievingly, “Everyday? You’re sure about that?”

“Everyday. There’s always so much more in you, Jaime. Never forget that. And don’t ever hesitate reminding people that. Even me.”

“Wench,” he whispered, clearly moved by her words. She kissed him gently on the lips then stood up.

“Come on.” She took him by the hand. “Now’s my turn to show you off.”

Jaime groaned but let her pull him off the bed and back to the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Puffy pillow is a slang for pussy. But I wanted a 'faster'sound so we have pillow puffs! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At that moment, she saw her reflection in the steel tissue dispenser. What surprised her was not the absence of shock but the calm in her eyes. No panicked twitching under the cheek. No hurried breathing to fog the surface of the steel. 
> 
> Indeed. Why not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back. For now.
> 
> Besides knowing that this update is another reason to be judged, and to be honest, enough to make me nervous and change my mind again, there's been a death and we're still trying to wrap our heads around it. Writing is how I best cope. I dunno if fanfic is still the writing I wish to turn to during these times as it's been ruined for me. I will still read it. I just no lo longer have the confidence unlike before. Or even enjoyment.
> 
> If I can ask for one thing, let's try to be less snarky and judgmental of what people write. Bad writing is bad writing but don't use it as a way to gauge the writer's life. Instead, Try hugging a loved one for an extra ten seconds, maybe. Tell them you love them. You never know when it will be the last time. 
> 
> I'm more of seventy percent willing to leave this as a WIP but anything unfinished simply doesn't sit well with me. So I'll try to finish this. Thank you for the comments left in my other works--I'll be reading and replying to each. I really don't know if I can finish my other stuff--again, for reasons that I already mentioned. But this one I will definitely try. Then. . .we'll see. 
> 
> Grateful for catherineflowers and kristilove who listened, sent me hugs, checked on me. I'm so excited for this new story Kristilove is working on and can't wait when she finishes it! Catherineflowers also has an ongoing fic that has had people rooting for Brienne with another guy. Such wonderful stories! And I'm Team Braddam! 
> 
> So here's the update. One I've been tinkering over for weeks until catherineflowers threatened to hunt me down if I keep at it and still refuse to post! Dear, here it is!

“Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am yours and you are mine. . .”

As dawn broke through the last vestiges of night, Oberyn and Ellaria made their vows in a small temple by the sea. They still wore the colorful costumes from the engagement party. What would otherwise come off as ridiculous and tacky with the old, limestone temple as backdrop was cast in soft, golden light by the sun slipping through the windows. Their clothes shimmered like wet gold.

Jaime glanced at Brienne as their friends kissed. Like them, they were still wearing costumes from the party. The fluffy waves of her hair had fallen limp and stuck out like straw at the ends. The droop of her upper eyelids conveyed sleepiness. He raised his chin, standing on tiptoe to kiss her between the eyebrows. Her sigh warmed his throat and when he pulled back, her eyes were much clearer and bluer.

Doran shouting congratulations at his brother and new sister-in-law broke the spell. Jaime smirked at Brienne’s blush. Holding hands, they made their way to Ellaria and Oberyn. Quick but deep hugs and vigorous handshakes were exchanged.

Jaime bent to kiss Ellaria on the cheek. Her slim fingers fluttered around his arms.

“Do you love her?” She whispered. He pulled back. Dark eyes looked at him knowingly. Her little smile was smug but warm. Glancing at Brienne, who was surrounded by Oberyn and Doran, she continued, “If you promise to love her more than life, she’s yours.”

 _Mine._ He should mind she was dressed so revealingly around other men, but she looked so wonderful. Almost, almost beautiful with the blue of her clothes calling attention to her eyes. He couldn’t imagine depriving anyone of the vision she made. Swallowing to relieve the catch in his throat, he said, “I do.”

He glanced back at Ellaria and sighed. “I just think it’s too soon.”

“For what?”

“A lot of things.” He flushed and scratched his head. “Listen, I know you’re her best friend, but I don’t feel comfortable talking to you about things that should be only between me and her.”

“I understand.” She patted him on the shoulder. “But Jaime, she loves you. And I see how much you care for her. It’s all that matters. Time doesn’t matter when it’s right.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Just never hurt her, okay?”

For all her playfulness and habit of making light of everything, Jaime glimpsed a woman who was protective of the people she loved. _Just like Brienne._ There was no doubt she’d slice him in half if he hurt her best friend. He was glad Brienne had someone like her.

“You have my word.”

She beamed. “Super.”

They joined the others. A big smile spilt across Oberyn’s face as he swept Ellaria in his arms, twirling her round and round. Brienne grasped Jaime’s hand and he nuzzled her neck. She held him around the waist as he continued nibbling her, loving how he felt the explosion of another blush when he pointedly ignored Oberyn’s throat-clearing to get everyone’s attention and Ellaria and Doran’s chuckles.

“Jaime.” No admonishment in the wench’s tone. Just a breathless sound of desire, want and frustration. He sighed and reluctantly pulled away.

“So, now that I have your attention,” Oberyn said, arching an eyebrow at Jaime. “We just want to say our thanks for joining us on this spontaneous trip. This is exactly the kind of wedding we want. We’re so excited to begin this new chapter and consider ourselves blessed you’re here as we take the first step. Now, ah, because we just sprang this on you, we’d be more than happy to have you join us. Help you look for a hotel to stay if you want to stay a day or two.”

“Fine by me,” Doran said, yawning. He resembled Oberyn but had a more serious demeanor. His suit was a little rumpled, but Jaime still felt like tightening his own non-existent necktie. Instead, he pulled his robe closed. “I’d kill for a king-sized bed to fall into right now.”

Ellaria laughed. “So would we. Brienne? Jaime?”

Brienne looked at Jaime apologetically and he nodded. “We really want to but it’s the end of the month.”

“Accounting and all, plus having to prepare for the upcoming holidays which begin in two weeks.” It was too bad. He’d love to spend even just a day in Lys. It was his first visit and wanted to check out what spices and fresh produce were available. But there was work, a lot of work, back in the patisserie.

“The perils of running your own business. I’m sorry, guys,” Oberyn said, patting Brienne on the shoulder. “But hey, you can use our plane to fly back? It’s the least we can do. Make sure you’re comfortable on the flight back.”

“I-I can’t accept—” Brienne stammered as Jaime shook his head. But Ellaria talked over them.

“Oh, please. There’s no point in being rich if we can’t get our friends back home in style. Take the plane.”

“Oh, fuck,” Oberyn exclaimed in mock surprise. He looked at Ellaria. “I’m now rich because of you.”

“Don’t get too excited. You’re still keeping your day job.”

“But all my life I’ve wanted to be nothing but a trophy husband.” Oberyn pretended to whine. Doran rolled his eyes and sighed loudly.

“Sorry, Ellaria. Unless you bash his head in, you’re stuck.”

“Take the plane,” Ellaria insisted, laughing as Oberyn kissed her loudly on the cheek. “It’s the least we can do.”

“Thank you,” Brienne went to hug her. Ellaria hugged her back. “We appreciate it.”

The limo Oberyn and Ellaria had hired was still parked in front of the temple. The chauffeur, who had been leaning against it, quickly straightened up to get the door. As they piled inside, Oberyn instructed him to drive to the airport before dropping off everyone else at the hotel.

Though it was no problem for them to book a commercial flight back to Westeros, Jaime _was_ grateful for the private aircraft. They didn’t have to go through the usual check-in and other hassles of ordinary passengers. Because they had the plane to themselves, there was no one to raise eyebrows or cast disapproving looks at their costumes. But they quickly changed into their street clothes before takeoff.

“We should try getting some sleep,” Brienne murmured as they sat down. They sat on wide, very plush seats flanking the aisle that can be fully reclined. She moved to lay down, smiling at Jaime sleepily as he drew a fur blanket up to her shoulders.

“Sweet dreams, wench,” he whispered, kissing her.

The flight was only an hour and a half long. Due to favorable winds, the pilot announced they would be landing fifteen minutes early. From his seat, Jaime turned to wake up Brienne. She was still sound asleep.

She slept curled on her side, greasy hair covering her face. Freckled, unpolished toes peeked from under the blanket.

She was not a sexy sleeper, but Jaime still wanted her. Wanted her a lot. At the same time, he was content to just watch. Too bad in a few minutes he would have to shatter the sweet picture she made to wake her up.

He roused her gently. Sweeping her hair away with the lightest of touches but unable to resist brushing fingers on the freckles scattered around her forehead. Thumb tracing the broad plane of her cheek. Wiping the long thread of her drool with the cuff of his sweater.

He never really looked at a woman until Brienne. Beauty—round eyes, small nose, sensual lips arranged in perfect symmetry, though different on every woman, blended into one when compared to Brienne. Redheads, brunettes, blondes, skinheads, women with braids, fair skin, dark olive, short, tall, curvy, skinny, thick—he’d had them all. Their beauty had been arousing, inspiring no other thoughts beyond carnality and conquering. Brienne— _Brienne_ —

Brienne, on the other hand, with her ugliness, had fascinated him at first sight. Maybe because he’d never seen anyone that looked like her. Maybe in trying to get past her big nose and thick lips, big teeth, he had gone deep in search for what could possibly make her beautiful.

The truth was _she_ was beautiful. From straw-blonde hair all the way to the soul. Her coarsely-featured face was not something he had to get over or viewed as a negative stacked against overwhelming positives. Brienne wouldn’t Brienne if she looked any different. Everything about her that put off men he loved. A lot. He didn’t want her teeth fixed. Didn’t wish she had a smaller nose. Had no desire to be with anybody who wouldn’t call him out on his temper, butt heads with him when going over the budget. She was perfection. All of her.

He had no way of verifying unless there was a time machine. But he bet his life she had been perfect from birth.

His fingers grazing her face slowly brought her eyes open. He smiled at her sleepy, mildly confused look at their surroundings before her gaze zeroed in on him. “Jaime.”

One word. His name. One sound. One. A soft utterance packed with love and happiness, relief. This was something he could really get used to for the rest of his life. She cooed under her breath before stretching. He sat back, admiring the long, almost elegant lines of her body gently shifting and pointing forward under the blanket.

“We’re landing in a few, wench. Let’s get you up.”

“Already?” She sighed, rubbing her eyes.

He helped her into a coat and scarf, worried out loud she was sockless in her flats. She had to stop him from taking off his socks with a laugh.

“Don’t worry about me, Jaime.” He stilled at the sound of his name again. How could she say it so simply yet make him feel all warm and ready to take off in the sky?

“I don’t want you cold.”

“I’ll be fine.” She took his face in both hands and kissed him. “I’ll just wash my face, alright?”

While she freshened up, he tried combing his hair with fingers. He didn’t need a mirror to know he looked like a nightmare. He yawned hugely. Watching Brienne sleep had kept him up and now he was paying for it. But it was worth it, he thought, turning in her direction as she left the bathroom. Freshly-washed though still looking sleepy, he found himself imagining seeing her like this, every morning, for a long, long time.

He waited for the avalanche of anxiety, fear. Panic. Nothing. All he felt was calm. 

_Time doesn’t matter when it’s right._

*******  
Because of the weather and the weekend chaos of arrivals and departures, it took Jaime and Brienne an hour to get home. Brienne couldn’t help but laugh as Jaime dived inside the cab almost as soon as it pulled up, leaving her to stash their overnight case in the trunk. As soon as she joined him inside, he cuddled close and dropped his head on her shoulder. He slept the entire drive.

Long yawns pulled her mouth many times until reaching home. She caught herself, her breath stilling for a few seconds. Home would mean one place they shared. Not two apartments they owned separately and thought as the other’s own. Yet that was exactly what had happened. Home was either of their apartments. Wherever he was. She kissed him on the forehead, grinning as he snored softly.

She directed the driver to her apartment since it was closer. She nudged Jaime awake, really sorry about interrupting his sleep when he revealed bloodshot eyes. She had to drag him a bit out of the backseat and hold him because he didn’t look too steady on his feet.

As the cab pulled away, they stared at the stairs leading to the double front doors with dread. It was the longest climb given their exhaustion. Snow was piled on the corners of the steps. Brienne couldn’t tell who was holding who, who was leading who as they climbed to the top. She unlocked the doors to pull him inside. Another set of stairs confronted them.

This time, Jaime took her by the hand and pulled her up behind him.

“Do you want breakfast?” Brienne asked as they headed for her door. As she unlocked it, he swayed on his feet and rubbed his eyes. His golden hair was rumpled and with portions sticking up. He yawned long and loudly.

“Just bed,” he murmured, following her inside. He put aside the duffel bag containing their clothes from the party. As Brienne yawned this time, soft emerald eyes trailed from her mussed, limp hair to the tips of her shoes. Then they traveled back up, lingering on the juncture between her thighs before resting on her chapped lips. “You. I didn’t fuck you last night.”

She chuckled at his disgruntled tone. “We don’t have to fuck every night.”

Despite her words, she felt that strange ache in her cunt. Her body realized what it meant faster than her mind. Blushing, she lowered her head, watching under her lashes as Jaime took their coats to the closet. He hung them up neatly, fingers lingering on the sleeve of her coat. “It feels wrong when I’ve not been inside you for long.”

He spoke as only to himself then turned to her. “ _I_ feel wrong, wench.”

Her entire body _needed_ sleep but she took the hand he offered and let him pull her into the bedroom. She felt warm as if fevered, her head seemingly heavy and her eyes unable to see straight unless focusing on Jaime. She stumbled after him, lured by his scent and the warmth radiating from him. When he turned to look at her, she caught her breath.

He suddenly kissed her. A gentle brush of lips and touch of tongue as he easily pressed her against the wall to keep tasting her. She widened the stance of her legs, her breath rushed, and her hands unsteady from the memory of how he felt inside her. She moaned from the press of his bulge against her cunt, the slight roll of his hips the promise of the anticipated fuck.

She tore her lips away to bury her face on his shoulder. She wasn’t used not having him inside anymore. _She_ hurt when he wasn’t.

“So,” he was panting too. “Are you up to it? You want my cock, wench?”

She nodded.

He took her further in the bedroom. Their next kiss was by the bed, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as he grabbed her hips. He rubbed himself against her and she moaned. Her mouth hung open as he licked the curve of her lips. Then she slipped her hand between their bodies, easily finding his cock. Both sighed in relief as her fingers wrapped around him, the denim hardly a hindrance to the heat of her touch.

She felt herself slowly coming alive.

It was like being in a dream. They spun to the bed, mouths loosely fused and hands going for each other’s clothes. They removed only what was needed to do the deed.

She was barely on her back when he swooped down and pushed his cock in her cunt. He swallowed her little throaty shriek from the slight burn. She was only moist rather than drenched. They stared at each other as she adjusted around him. To help her, he caressed and squeezed her tits under the sweater. Watched until the scowl fled her face before kissing her.

Her heart burst like a thousand rockets launched simultaneously. With his cock snug and thrusting in her cunt, she didn’t just feel whole. She felt _right._ Her long legs locked around his waist as she kissed him harder. His beard dug on her cheeks and chin like little spikes. Gods, how she felt _everything_ —his longish hair feathering her face, the wool of their sweaters too warm and heavy on their skins, fingers plucking at her nipple. _His cock._ A hard, thick pillar splitting into her. His balls pressed against the lower lips of her cunt.

His musk-laced pastry scent surrounded her like a cloud. She reveled in the feel of supple skin over sinew and muscle. He fucked her as if to push _all_ of himself inside her. Rocking and grinding together like ships tossed in the storm, she felt free. She had the world. _“Jaime.”_

“You’re too tight,” he growled, fucking her hard. He pulled one of her legs roughly over his shoulder. Now he could thrust deeper. But her cunt. _Damn it._ She couldn’t be stretched enough. How she needed him.

“Don’t leave me,” she whimpered, arching to offer her tits. His mouth latched around a nipple. They groaned at the immediate effect: a fresh slickness in her cunt that made her wider. _“Yes. Jaime.”_

_“Brienne.”_

He pulled back and she cried out, hating the nanosecond they were apart. He punched back inside, cutting of her wail. All was right again.

“I love you so much.” She sounded tearful. When his mouth took her, she kissed him back. Opened wide to welcome his tongue.

Fucking held them together—not just because they were perfectly matched but they were also most themselves when one flesh. She had tried to be considerate of his feelings, wanting him to know he was so much more than a warm body, more than his wonderful cock. Fucking was how they best talked. How they knew each other better each day. Right now, she could add another certainty to that growing list: she wanted to be with Jaime for a long time. Forever, if she dared hope.

She sucked on his tongue, thinking that if all of him could sink in her flesh, fuse his bones with hers, they would always be together.

He came quickly, grunting against her shoulder as he spilled. She could barely keep her eyes open when he moved down her body, his breath feathering her stomach before ruffling the sodden curls of her cunt. Then he was nudging her open, exposing her clit for the latch of his lips. He suckled on the fat bud while fingers fucked her.

She announced her release with a watery sob, her body so tired she barely undulated. Her legs collapsed limply on the bed, looking like ivory pillars felled by war. Before falling asleep, she opened her arms and he put his head between her tits.

Sleep and satisfaction held her for only a couple of hours. She woke up nagged by that hollowness in her cunt again.

Finding Jaime fast asleep with an arm flung over his eyes, she was careful to lift the sheet off him, and gentler when stroking his cock. Between powerful thighs and surrounded by soft, golden curls was the fat, long length of his cock and round, plump balls.

She stared at his sleeping face while guiding the foreskin back and forth, blushing from the sound of flesh rubbing softly on each other. She licked and covered his balls with feathery kisses too. Though every inch of her, though her soul _screamed_ to devour him, she wanted to taste. To worship.

He stirred, probably thinking he was dreaming. She kept her caresses gentle. She pulled back the foreskin and circled a tongue around the fat, shining head. He sighed, her name falling like an exhale from his lips. Still asleep, his breathing began to spike. She opened her mouth wide then, slurping the head wetly. His chest tensed and relaxed, and she took them as a sign to kiss him more.

She pushed the foreskin towards the base. Her mouth followed. There was no end to this craving—his secret flavor, his scent, _Jaime._ Her saliva dripped down his cock, his thighs, slickening the rest of his length for her advancing mouth.

She needed him so much. _So fucking much._

She took him in her mouth until he brushed the back of her throat. His eyes fluttered open, soft emeralds boring into her until they sharpened and watched every rise and plunge of her head, her widening lips. He gasped, hips thrusting roughly at her. The veins and tendons in his neck and shoulders stood out as he tensed. Fingers yanked at her hair, keeping her head still as he came in her mouth.

Gods, how could anything, _how could someone taste_ so, so delicious. She slurped and swallowed loudly. Clumsily. Saliva and semen dripped down her throat, plopped on his thighs, the bed. It seemed he poured in her mouth for eons. For all she knew the world had come to an end and had another beginning. When his fingers slackened on her hair, she released his cock and rested her head on his thigh. “Brienne.” His voice was raw. “Come here. Kiss me.”

Flushed and sweaty from her efforts, she wearily crawled up to him. His sigh fanned her face before kissing her. Pushing his fingers though her messy hair, he drank from her wet mouth.

For the rest of the day, they took turns waking up and having the other. He chuckled and kissed her feeble protests away about sleep. Yet she spread her legs, murmuring nonsense as his tongue bathed her cunt before making her come with three fingers crammed in her channel. When he suckled on her nipples, she dreamed of honey flowing right into his mouth.

Sometime in the afternoon, roused again by Jaime, Brienne cried out from the dark pleasure of his cock pushing in her stubborn rosette. She gripped the sheets and pillows, fighting against her own instinctive resistance because she wanted him inside. Sweat exploded all over her back and dripped toward the cleft of her ass, toward the red, swollen place where they were joined. He fisted what he could of her short hair, yanking her head to the side to bury his tongue in her mouth.

When she straddled his back later, and was pressing kisses on him, he groaned and pulled her hand to his ass. Told her sleepily what he wanted. Where he wanted her finger. She blushed but gave as he asked, and also tongued him. Was it any surprise he also smelled like pastries between the cheeks? He rewarded her with harsh cries of her name and how much he loved her.

As the sun began its descent, Brienne’s legs were once against wrapped tightly around Jaime’s back. His hard thrusts sent her head smacking against the headboard. Holding him fiercely, she said the only thing her mind could fathom in the moment.

_“Jaime.”_

“I love you.”

Through the fading light filtering through the half-drawn blinds, she watched his firm lips fall slack, his elegant face softened from pleasure. Long, pale fingers inched up his hairy chest, his clavicles before threading through his hair, gently urging him to look at her. His head lowered and she met him halfway with a kiss of heat and longing.

He was everything and more than she could ever understand. But her heart knew. Where words failed, the heart went beyond.

******  
The next morning, Jaime stood by the door. After patting his chest and shoulders dry, he guided the towel down his cock and thighs. He smirked at Brienne.

Innocence and sex made flesh, that’s what she was. Hair still damp and her cheeks candy-pink. The latter called for feathery kisses. Her nipples poking against her white tank top, on the other hand, called for lascivious swipes of tongue and hungry suckles. She was already in a garter belt, one of the many she owned, black and unadorned like the others. He watched her prop a foot on the edge of the bed, bending to clip the edge of a thick black stocking. In this position he not only saw the tattoo low on her back shifting and seeming to spread across the expanse of flesh and muscle but also the swollen crevice where they had been joined many times last night.

The towel fell. Breathing gently, he drank in the sight of Brienne clipping the other stocking. He stroked the foreskin languidly on his stiffening cock. Thinking of her rough fingers. Remembering the pull of her soft lips. Her wet, cavernous mouth.

He loved Brienne with everything he had. He adored the plainness of her face. Worshipped her eyes and always felt his spirits lift just from glimpsing either her scowl or shy toothy smile. He lived for her very unladylike, wheezing motorboat laugh that was sometimes capped with a snort.

She picked up her phone, scrolling through the screen to read a message or an email. No matter the ordinariness of the activity she engaged in, he was happy to just look at her for hours. Just the sight of her slayed and brought him back to life.

There was also the never-ending urge to just fucking _eat her up_.

Never had a woman been as close to delectable as his wench. Her ears called for a nibble. Her puffy mouth demanded only hard, wet kisses. Her long, freckled neck was made for his tongue. Her tits. Her mouthwatering big aureoles and fat nipples—airy kisses and hard, deep drags. Her pussy—that dirty-blond pelt covering a slick slit that led to the wettest, tightest passage he’d fucked. Her fresh, wet, strawberries-and-cream flavor. He had to bite his lip to swallow a chuckle. In between fucking her in the ass last night, he kept his head between her thighs. His jaw and tongue were sore from the feast.

It was so freeing fucking her. He never had trouble convincing others about what he wanted in bed. She never refused him, but he found real pleasure with her—the feel of her, her response, the knowledge he had coaxed such a response. Other women were just a blur of faces, their moans one sound. With Brienne, he was truly with her. He saw only her eyes, dreamed only of her mouth even when kissing her. He knew who held him.

He fucked her almost daily, and at least a couple of times a day. The urgency flung him to a frenzy and desperation where he couldn’t imagine not having her in the next breath. He sometimes thought it made for furious but clumsy fucking—he spilled on her rather than inside her most of the time due to excitement. So far, she hadn’t complained. But he needed to get a hold of himself one of these days, else he’d end up treating her like an object—the same complaint he’d raised just a few days ago.

Yesterday, he had fucked her in a way he never had. Maybe it was the high of his culinary triumph at the party. Maybe the impromptu wedding, where wine had let his mind wander to directions he refused to entertain for a long time. He found himself taking a closer look at her, concentrating on how she felt. Yes, he had fucked her like a man locked away from his love for a long time. Yet he also noticed every freckle on her face and neck. Counted the teeny hairs on her armpits with his lips. Memorized the blue scrawl of veins on the inside of her left wrist.

While fucking her with his fingers at one point, he noticed she was pouring. She had been pumped so full of semen it had begun to trickle between her thighs. As she slept, he remained between her legs, entranced by the sight of his semen dripping from her just by gently thumbing her labia open. Her pussy was puffy and swollen so he kissed it—desirous and also apologetic for the discomfort that lay ahead.

“Ellaria says they’re flying back tomorrow morning,” Brienne said, probably having heard him enter the room. She typed on the phone while speaking. “Do you think we can have a gift basket waiting for them? I have the key.”

“Sounds great,” he replied, his throat tight. The garter belt and stockings framed her pussy nicely, like a piece of art worthy of display in a museum. “I’m sure they would love the gesture.”

“They should have a longer honeymoon, if you ask me. But they’re eager to shock people about the marriage.” As far as Jaime and Brienne knew, Ellaria and Oberyn eloping was known only to a small circle.

“They like shocking people way too much,” he said faintly.

She laughed and put away her phone. “Oh, yes.”

She was reaching for her panties when he made a playful, tutting sound of disapproval. Fucking cute how she gulped audibly upon seeing his erection. Then she suddenly tossed her panties away and promptly dropped on the bed.

She spread her legs, groaned his name.

He staggered to her. _Staggered._ For the vision of her wearing a look of hope and desire and legs spread to reveal the thick jungle of her pussy was like witnessing the creation of the universe.

The beginning of time.

He fell in her arms, sliding his cock easily in her still-slick clutch. She took his face in both hands, softening his groan of pleasure with a wet, hungry kiss from her big mouth. “Brienne,” he whispered, breaking away from the kiss briefly to look in her eyes, her face, before taking her in his arms. He rolled, putting her on top of him.

She was a breathing, living, utter _phenomenon_. He smoothed the hair falling over her eyes as she rode him torturously, sensuously. The pale light of winter softened the hard features of her face, the strength of her shoulders, her thighs. But not how she felt. Gods above, he thought, closing his eyes as her pussy pulsed around his cock. Pulled him deeper inside. The things he would do for the Seven to grant him the gift of staying hard inside her the entire day.

He stroked the bare skin between her garters and stockings, lifted the edge of her tank to feel the flex of her firm abs. Crept higher to cup her tits and silky nipples. Shit, she was rounder now, there. She was warm and so fucking soft. He watched her lips part to let out a moan. Playing with one of her tits, his other hand gripped her by the nape to push her down for a kiss.

An hour later, Jaime flung Brienne’s torn tank top to the floor. He didn’t hide his satisfied smirk at the sight of her flat on her back and apple-red from face to chest. Her nipples resembled plumped cherries gleaming with his saliva. The freckled plane of her stomach purple and pink from his kisses. Her pubic hairs were so wet and shiny he could probably check his reflection on them. Her thighs, still cased in stockings, wore the pink burns of his beard and smears of semen.

Soft sapphire eyes stared at him. He rejoined her, nudging the empty lube out of the way before taking her in his arms. On her lips was a small, sweet smile. He was exhausted—there was no way his cock was getting hard anytime soon. Or even in a couple of hours maybe.

This morning, he had been gentle. Again. It was a new and amazing discovery. She still aroused a wildness—a mix of animal instinct and desperation to possess her. Even now he couldn’t stop himself from stroking her thigh. Touching her just to touch her.

“We should call the shop, say we’re coming in late today,” she murmured, trailing fingers up and down his chest and stomach. An innocent yet tantalizing touch.

“I’ll call Jon,” he said, gazing at her dark pubic hairs. The tangles and curls, drops of semen and her own honey reminded him of an intricate sugar dome. “To say we’re taking a personal day.”

She pushed herself up on an elbow, a straight, pale eyebrow arced to her hairline. Despite the frown, she looked oddly fetching. She should look ridiculous with her ugly but sweet face, little tits, very hairy pussy and stockings but somehow. . .she _didn’t._ Her frown made his breath catch. “Us? A personal day?”

“Why not? I’ve never had one since I started working. You haven’t had one either since working at the patisserie.” He stretched out beside her, amused as thoughts opposing and in support of his idea scudded across her face. She didn’t know it yet, but she was in danger of getting fucked again. He glanced woefully at his exhausted cock. His sore tongue could do the job.

Brienne sat up, folding her legs to her chest to put her chin on hem. He sat up too, leaning against the headboard. His hand returned to her body, this time tracing the elegant line of her long, broad back, the edge of her tattoo.

“Do you think that’s wise?” She asked. “With all the work before us? And the last of the debt due at the end of the week?”

“Two of the reasons we deserve a break, don’t you think?” He pointed out. She still looked unsure. “We haven’t had enough time to be just us. I don’t know, I want us to walk in the park—we’ve never done that. Have hot cocoa after. Have pasta for lunch. That’s not to say I won’t try fucking you when I take you to my favorite section of the public library.”

She laughed. He smiled. “Come on. Sped the day with me. Forget about work.”

She rubbed her temples. “I won’t mind not thinking about costing and money for one day.”

“Never thought I’d say it, but I can use a break from wenches,” he added. “Ramsay’s rough on the egg whites and I just don’t have the patience to guide him again about being gentle. Let Jon do it.”

She kissed him the snuggled on his chest. She rubbed her face on the hairs like a kitten seeking warmth. He chuckled. “I _am_ still pretty tired from the weekend,” she considered.

“Thank you,” he said, grinning.

She swatted him. “Let’s see you thank me if I stay in your ass for half the day. A good part of the morning too.”

“You’ll have to try harder convincing me you’re not that big a fan, wench.”

“No. No, I like it.” She said quickly, blushing furiously. _“I like it a lot.”_

He was pleased. “Good. But I don’t want to just fuck you today.”

“A walk sounds great. And the hot cocoa too. The pasta thing—you letting me eat food you didn’t make. I think it’s one for the history books,” she joked. She pecked his chest with kisses in between words.

“I have no problem with you eating pasta made by other people, wench. Just as long as you know mine’s the best. I welcome it. Shows you what you’re missing when you don’t eat food I make.”

“The gust of humility would have knocked me down if I wasn’t sitting down already.”

“My humble cock never ceases to amaze in downing a giant like you. So, yes? Just you and me today. No talk of work. Nothing about costing and profits. I won’t even talk about the new pastries I’ve come up with.”

“Let me guess. It was something inspired by fucking me again.”

She got up from the bed. He licked his lips looking at the flushed skin of her ass. “You never fail to inspire me, wench.”

********  
Fucking at the start of the day was to begin it on a note so high the rest of the daylight hours should be a drag. There was no beating it—not the most delicious food in the world, the most beautiful sunset, the most awesome view of the city from the top of the highest building.

Somehow, though no activity, no object was as good, neither pushed for patience to find some ounce of pleasure.

Brienne squealed after Jaime as he ran away from her, his long legs taking him far and away from the arcing snowball. It missed. She fashioned another one then took after him. She covered the same distance in half the time, and soon she was almost running alongside of him. His breath came out in big white puffs, and when he made the mistake of looking back to check how quickly she was gaining, she threw the snowball.

It hit him right in the face and knocked him to the snowy ground. “Fuck you!”

As he lay down groaning about the snow in his beard, she stood over him and proceeded to kick more snow in his direction. He yelled again, emerald eyes gleaming like wildfyre. She drew her leg back for another kick when he yanked it. “Shit!” She growled, slamming ass-first on the ground.

Between having his cock there a lot yesterday and now this, the pain was too much. She screamed, stunning Jaime into sitting up and quickly crawling to her.

“Are you hurt? Wench—” he started pawing her body for broken bones.

She sighed and grunted. “No. It’s just that—my ass is really tender.”

Understanding hit him right away. “Oh.”

“Give me a minute.”

He sat next to her, looking worried and guilty. “Did I tear you? I got rough—”

“No.” She shook her head quickly. “No, you didn’t. I think we have to hold off fucking me there for a while.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He really was. She patted him on the knee. “Don’t. I was as enthusiastic as you are.”

They smiled at each other. He moved closer, kissing her. He tasted of snow. “Maybe you should sit in the snow a while. Let’s get your trousers off—”

She burst out laughing. Just like that, their play resumed.

For the next half-hour, they tussled in the snow. Snowballs flew. Snow was smeared on faces. Worry for her comfort didn’t stop Jaime from being a tad aggressive. He clearly hated to lose but Brienne was taller and twice his strength. She hurled a snowball the size of softball then lunged at him. He cried out as they fell.

They rolled down the little hill until reaching the base. She lay half on top of him, both of them grinning and panting at their snow-dusted faces. Then she kissed him.

He tasted like ice cream, with his cool lips and pastry-laced natural scent. Their clothes were damp, but she was warm. She couldn’t recall having this much fun in the snow with anyone, or even by herself as a child. He had given her that gift—the magic and wonder of lolling around in bits and pieces of ice. As they lay on the ground a few moments later just looking at the trees hunched from the weight of snow, she thought how beautiful the world was. She glanced at Jaime, eyes softening at the sight of his profile.

“Let’s get you warm and dry, wench,” he said a moment later, helping her up. She laughed as he dusted snow off her body but noticed how his hands lingered on her legs, her hips. When he innocently asked if she was sure she didn’t have snow in her panties, she turned red and shook her head.

Then she helped clear the snow off him. Got on her knees right in front of him, herself taking extra care clearing the snow from his thighs and legs. Under his bulky, layered clothes, there was no mistaking the bulge in his pants. No surprise her ass was sore, she thought, looking up.

“Something’s swelled up big and hard, wench,” he said with exaggerated innocence. “Will you do something about it?”

Then he moved, trying to rub his cock on her cheek, gloved hands running through her hair. She burst out laughing and shook him off. She got up. “Perfect time for hot cocoa then,” she replied sweetly. When he let out a pained groan, she laughed again.

Besides their first weekend away that felt like a lifetime ago, their first official date, it was rare for Brienne to see Jaime carefree. He thrived on the tension of cooking and she didn’t doubt that—he looked happy and relaxed, sure of himself. Away from work was still the man she loved but different, somehow. More at ease with himself. Someone who was content to just let things be and have fun.

The hot cocoa at Bowl O’ Brown was as delicious and decadent as he’d promised. The rich, thick chocolate was served in a bowl, piled high with marshmallows. Before taking the first sip, Jaime made sure her gloves were on, cautioning that the bowl could be too hot.

Just for that, Brienne fell in love with him all over again.

“How can you live here after all this time and not know about this place?” He teased her she revealed never having heard of the café. Crinkles framed the corners of his warm eyes. Dimples deepened.

“Because it’s more fun for me to stay in pajamas than get dressed and go out,” she answered, flushing when he reached over to wipe some chocolate from her lip and chin. It should embarrass her, but his touch was never laced with reproach. Birds and fairies with sparkling silver wings fluttered in her stomach as he cleaned her.

Jaime finished and she sipped the cocoa again. “I worked all the time too. I didn’t mind. I love—I loved it.” His hand closed over hers when she faltered over the last sentence. She squeezed back gratefully. With him at her side, she could weather through everything. “I’ve always liked work.”

“It likes you back,” he assured her. “A lot.”

“I’m sorry,” she suddenly blurted out. Blushing, she said, “We’re not supposed to talk about work. It’s our day.”

“Perfectly alright, wench.”

“How did you know about the place?” She asked, awkwardly changing the subject. “It’s not near your apartment or work. Even The Golden Stag,” she observed, taking another sip. The hot cocoa was liquid heaven for this freezing winter day.

“I grew up around here,” he said after a moment. “If you like, I’ll even show you my old neighborhood.”

Remembering that the past dredged up the worst memories of his father and then his affairs, Brienne hesitated. Over the rim of the bowl she watched him sip, looking for any sign of dread or anxiety. He lowered the bowl, showing flushed cheeks and lips red and slick from the hot drink.

“It’s nothing like it was before. It’s been cleaned up real nice with nice places like this,” he continued, gesturing at the restaurant. “But the building might still be there. Or if not, I can probably remember where it was.”

“Why not then?” He was offering. Though he had told her much of his past, she sensed there was still a lot he locked away. There was no guarantee she will know everything but if took a lifetime, if it wasn’t enough, she was not going to walk away.

At that moment, she saw her reflection in the steel tissue dispenser. What surprised her was not the absence of shock but the calm in her eyes. No panicked twitching under the cheek. No hurried breathing to fog the surface of the steel. She glanced at Jaime, who was trying to chase the remaining marshmallows just by bending his head to the bowl. His silliness made her smile.

Indeed. _Why not?_

After paying, they walked out holding hands. Brienne blushed as Jaime made sure her feathered cap was secure around her head, her scarf wrapped, and her coat all buttoned up. He flicked a pale tendril from her cheek. “We should have more days like this, wench.”

Though it was a declaration, she didn’t miss the undertone of question, of hope. “More days than we can count,” she whispered.

He lit up, as if she’d just told him he won a million golden dragons. She took his hand and they walked. She was only half-listening Jaime point at several exclusive shops that used to be a coin laundry, a comic book store, a shoe repair service and dubious services by a self-proclaimed chiropractor. She was remembering her conversation with Ellaria. _When it’s right, it’s just right._

They didn’t have to walk long before Jaime announced they were in his old street. Brienne looked around. It was a bustling place of coffee shops, a bar, bookstores and a couple of small art galleries. They crossed the street, Jaime holding her hand. “There used to be potholes here that can fit two aurochs,” he said, gesturing on the ground. “Over there used to be a convenience store where the cashier looked the other way when kids like myself would buy cigarettes.”

“He was never caught?” She asked. “And how young exactly were you?”

His smile was rueful. “Thirteen. And the cashier was a she. Word had it she also worked in a brothel around here.”

_“A brothel?”_

He pointed at a store selling hand-sewn leather goods. “That building. That’s the rumor anyway.”

As he regaled and at the same time horrified her with stories about druggies, hookers and dealers scattered about in the old days, she found herself more in awe of him. To grow up in a place as he had was not only hell, but the kind you hardly escaped from. The clean, elegant neighborhood with its monochromatic shop facades and people strolling about in expensive coats and new boots was a lot like the street where she grew up. She didn’t grow up rich. But she lived in a building with a doorman, with a co-op board known to refuse people with just the slight wrinkle in their records.

“Well,” he slowed down, looking up. “Here we are.”

She gaped at an old, decrepit building. It was seven stories high. Besides the protective barricade around it were also signs warning people to keep out.

“It looks it’s going to fall apart one of these days. They should demolish it,” he continued.

The few windows with glass were cracked. Some vegetation had crawled up on the wall, as if to slowly pull the building and bury it deep in the ground, along with everything sordid the street was once known for.

“We didn’t always live here. Dad had a good job but just gave up on everything when Mom died. Couldn’t hold down any job. Started drinking—you know this already. I have some memories of a big apartment with cream and yellow walls. Sleeping on sheets printed with space rockets. But what I remember more are dirty gray walls. Faucets that never stopped dripping. Struggling to sleep because my face hurt, and I had to keep ice on it. That’s what I remember clearly.” 

It made Brienne sick. Not only had Jaime been neglected. He had been abused. She tightened her hold on his hand, wishing her dad was here. If not for him. . .she didn’t want to think of it. It didn’t take much to know what her life would be like without Jaime.

He turned to her, pointing. “We lived on the fifth—shit, wench. I’ve upset you.” She looked away to hide her red eyes and wobbling chin. But he took her by the shoulders to face him.

“No, no. Just something in my eye—”

He groaned and stepped closer, looking up at her. She whimpered as a tear finally fell. Letting out a little sob, she buried her face on his shoulder. He held her tightly. “You’re shaking. I’m so sorry. This is not what I wanted.”

“F-fuck your father,” she grunted. “Oh, Jaime.”

She was so angry, so full of hate over someone she’d never met.

She felt him kiss her on the neck, the cheek. “He’s gone. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

She nodded but couldn’t stop crying.

“It’s over. I got out. I have you. I never thought I could have someone like you.”

She clutched him to her chest, making him gasp and laugh a little. “Wench—uh, my ribs.”

“I’m sorry—” she started to let go but he shook his head. He pressed his face against her neck.

When she calmed down, he kissed her again. Soft feathery kisses all over her face, lingering on her closed eyelids with the wet eyelashes. She had to bend her knees for him to do it and he had to hold tightly standing on tiptoes on the snow-slicked ground. Then he wiped her tears away with his hands, apologizing for the absence of a handkerchief.

“Some trip down memory lane,” he remarked, nodding slightly. She must look terrible still. She was ugly to begin with and crying did her no favors. But he was kissing her again, this time on the mouth. She sighed as he sucked on her lower lip, moaned when their tongues brushed. Under her clothes, a gloved hand groped for her breast. She pushed closer to his hand, craving more.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmured through their kiss. His hand loosened on her breast, dropping just below it. “But fucking you makes your eyes the brightest. And I don’t know darkness when I’m inside you.”

“It’s too bad we’re nowhere near a bed or anywhere we can do it,” she rejoined. She turned her head to glance at an alley while he continued brushing his lips up and down her face then neck. “And too cold to fuck outside.”

She smiled when he cupped her face. He looked amused. “Looks like I’ve fucked the decency out of you.”

“You finally did it,” she admitted. “I don’t feel right without you inside me.”

“I know nothing until I’m inside you.” He kissed her again. She sighed, once again wrapping him in her arms.

With their kissing and touching growing more passionate by the second, they began attracting an audience. Brienne was blushing when Jaime put an end to it. She was grateful—there was no way for her to stop. But the effort took a lot out of him. His hand was trembling as it smoothed his hair. She handed him his hat back, having pulled it off during their kiss to touch him.

The cold air stung her lips and licking them introduced a rawness that made her start. It was a painful reminder of the kisses she couldn’t have now because of where they were. She glimpsed his lips. They were swollen and almost as red as hers.

Holding hands, he took her away from the place where ghosts of his childhood lingered. Neither looked back although they still kissed every few seconds until reaching the bus stop. They sat at the back. He put his head on her shoulder and she held him.

“Why exactly are we here?” Brienne asked after the bus dropped them off at the public library. They walked up the steps leading to the huge, elegant building with columns crowned with intricate curlicues at the top and bottom.

“In the Special Collection is this cookbook,” he said. “I found it by accident—I worked as a janitor here and that was the area I was assigned to. Before my shift, I’d study a bit or look at the books. It’s really old. Kind of falling apart but last I was here, the actual book was still accessible.”

“What’s so special about it?”

“You know the Purple Wedding?” She nodded. The history books mentioned it but materials right from the period of the War of the Five Kings were hard to come by. Besides wars leading to destruction of records, an event believed to be a carryover from it led to mysterious explosion of the Sept of Baelor. The explosion was so powerful it took out not just the entire Flea Bottom but also part of the Red Keep, taking with it the library and its precious scrolls and books. So information from events that took place during this period were often third-hand sources or written decades after. A lot of them can never be verified too, thus relegated to hearsay.

Everyone who grew up in Westeros had heard of the Purple Wedding. It was still referenced in pop culture although often categorized under pseudo-history. A king had apparently been poisoned at his wedding, which led to the fall of his family and the dynasty they’d begun. No one knew his name let alone his family—another of the many names lost after the explosion of the Sept.

“In this cookbook,” Jaime began, holding the door open for her. “Is a list not just of recipes for the eighty-seven courses served at the wedding. There’s also a glossary of cooking terms that are no longer used, food illustrations and kitchen and cooking tools.”

Brienne hid a smile. No wonder he was so excited. It was right up his alley. Jaime breathed and lived to cook. 

Inside the library was a warmth that bordered on tropical. Brienne rushed unwrapping her scarf from a neck suddenly flushed and blotchy from the heat. Her coat was suddenly heavy. Even her sweater felt too hot.

The first thing visitors saw upon entering the library was the sweeping grand staircase. At the bottom of the stairs was information regarding the collections housed per floor and operating hours. Brienne was expecting to go up the stairs, but Jaime pulled her to the elevator. The Special Collection was at the fifth floor.

The Special Collection was a little room, just slightly bigger than the size of their apartments combined. Here the temperature was freezing. Brienne had to fling her scarf around her neck to hide nipples stabbing through her sweater.

Despite the size of the room, it was a maze of bookshelves and desks. Jaime led her easily, having memorized the book’s location. She grinned at his focus—except for his hand around hers, it seemed he had forgotten her. His attention was solely on the book that had to be found. This was how he did everything. Always all in.

Finally they paused in front of a shelf. The scent of dust and old books was strongest here, although she still picked up Jaime’s musk-and-fresh-pastry scent. He shot her a smile before plucking a large, leather-bound volume from the shelf. “This is it.”

Again he led her through the maze, towards a small desk at a secluded area of the section. It was so quiet the only sound was their breath and the rustle of clothes. He quietly pulled out chairs then they sat down.

He invited her to open the book. He looked happy and excited, and she kissed him before doing as he asked. She was careful because the pages were yellowed and brittle. He encouraged her to go at a pace she liked, that if she had questions she should ask.

Brienne didn’t really care for history or ancient methods of cooking but she appreciated his enthusiasm and eagerness to share his love for the subjects. Diverging as their interests, sitting with Jaime, feeling his breath stirring the limp locks of her hair, she felt closer and knew him more.

In the book were recipes in faded, elegant script with hand-painted pictures of the food. It was a fascinating piece of history and for Jaime, it must be a gold mine of inspiration. She paused every couple of pages to ask him about unfamiliar cooking terms, instruments.

“This one,” she said softly, pointing at a little illustration on the page. “It says it’s a reamer? Sounds kinky, if you ask me.”

He grinned, bopping the tip of his nose lightly against her cheek. “It’s for getting the juice from fruits. These days we usually do it with a fork or a juicer. It’s still used but the design is certainly more refined, more efficient. You stab it into the fruit to squirt the juice.”

She cocked an eyebrow, noticing his eyes had dropped and lingered a second too long at her crotch before returning to her face. “Really.”

“Not lying, wench. There really was a thing called a reamer. Now, turn, hmm, fifteen pages on. That should be where the desserts are listed.”

She did, casting him an impressed look when the page did contain the information he promised. Scanning the entries, she frowned. “Pigeon pie.” She turned another page then next before finding the recipe and a drawing. “Says it’s a large, hollow pastry housing live pigeons. Live pigeons?”

He stroked her back under the sweater and put his chin on her shoulder. “Truth.”

She made a face. “Doesn’t sound hygienic. And cruel too.”

“Just imagine the drama of a sword cutting through the pastry and out comes five, six pigeons. It must be something to see back then.”

Despite his nonchalant tone, his caress was getting firmer, more suggestive. Brienne was glad they had the section to themselves although she refused to put her hand on his knee. They both knew what she’d do. Where it would go.

“Did-did people eat it?” She stammered. His touch was so soothing. “Just look at the amount of flour used. And the eggs. It’s a huge waste of money and effort if people don’t.”

“They do. Of course, when cutting it sometimes a bird or two gets killed.”

“And people still eat it? Like with all the blood? How sure are they the birds didn’t crap while inside?”

“If it’s good for royals, wench, why not?” He smiled.

Brienne shuddered, reading some more. “No thanks. They ate swans. And peacocks. Poor things. But I’m definitely skipping pigeon pie and these birds for my wedding.”

Jaime’s hand paused, resting between her shoulder blades. “Your wedding?”

Realizing what she’d blurted out, she blushed and shrugged. “Just an expression.”

His hand was still not moving. She took extra care turning a page, her ears suddenly burning.

“Planning on marrying yourself, wench?”

Her sweater was beginning to stick despite the coldness of the room. “Is there—Is there such a thing?” She pretended to joke.

She heard him take a deep breath before slowly closing the book. Fingers under her chin prompted her to look at him. His expression was unreadable. No sparkle in his eyes. No tensing of the jaw. He was just looking at her.

She stared back at him with a mix of dread and. . .hope.

“It’s just an expression, Jaime.”

A slim eyebrow raised. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“What more can I say?”

“Do you mean to tell me despite proclaiming many times I’m the best you’ve had I’m likely to be replaced by a vibrator?” He drawled, his chuckle startling her. “Marrying yourself—you think I’d let that happen?”

As she smiled in relief he leaned close, stopping just short of kissing her. “Brienne, I’m in this for the long haul.”

“Jaime—”

“It’s you I want. No one else. Not because fucking you is unlike anything I’ve ever had.” He sounded amazed and surprised. She blushed, gulping. “But I need to know. It’s not just me who feels that, right?”

She felt hot but there was no sweat on her palms. No dryness in her throat. The walls did not feel like closing in.

“I—I feel the same,” she confessed, her voice trembling. “I look—it’s what I look forward to in the morning. It’s my favorite part of the day. Not just having you inside me. Being with you.”

He resumed stroking her but not another word passed between them. She looked away, blushing some more from the heat of his gaze directed at her face, her lips.

“Do you think you’d want to marry me someday?”

She gasped and turned back to him.

“Not marry me for my cock and tongue, wench. Me. Jaime with his bad credit score, short temper, long work hours, the baggage of an awful childhood. Screwed-up me who slept with judges to get some fucking award years in a row and other people to save the patisserie. I’m no good, Brienne. All I have is I love you.”

She bit her lip. Trust Jaime to be the harshest with himself.

“If it happens, I don’t think there will be a menu. I honestly won’t care for it unless it’s what you want. We can have armadillo steak. Snakes marinated in milk and spices. I just want us to speak the vows although we’ve been each other’s for a while. You have me, Brienne. But someday, I hope to be truly yours.”

His hand slipped from under her sweater to take her hand. She stared at their joined hands. He was warm. The stroke of his thumb on her palm was also soothing.

“If you’ll have me, and it’s alright with you, I’ll just drag you to the nearest sept then fuck you once we’ve said our vows. I’ll fuck you against the pillar or in front of the septon. I don’t think I can wait long enough until we’re alone.”

His hand climbed to her face, thumb pressing on her thick lips. He pulled her close, once again teasing her with an almost kiss. “Jaime—”

“I’m more than my cock, Brienne,” he said solemnly, “But when I’m inside you, nothing can go wrong in the world. I taste hope. I’m more than the man I thought I could be when inside you.”

Despite the passion of his words, he spoke earnestly. His gaze was imploring, and he held her hand in both, closing them around it as if in prayer. She stared at their joined hands. This kind of talk was too soon. Everything they had done had been too soon.

But her breathing was normal. A steady inhale and exhale of oxygen. Heart beating at a normal rate. No sweaty palms or trembling knees. No flutter in her stomach, even dancing fairies. All she felt was Jaime. How warm he was. The gentle weight of his hand around her. _Everything felt right._

He opened his mouth to speak again and she stopped him with a press of her fingers on his lips. She shook her head, smiling softly.

“There is nothing you said that I don’t love,” she whispered. ‘Yes, Jaime. Someday, yes.”

Then she kissed him. First a light, very light brush of lips and then she had to have his mouth. Remembering how much she loved his tongue, she cupped his face and moved closer. The kiss deepened and their tongues met in a slow, teasing massage.

She had no idea how long they were kissing. Night could have fallen for all she cared. When they came up for air, they were flushed and breathless. She leaned her forehead on Jaime’s.

“I think I’m about to faint,” she joked.

He chuckled. “It’s well past lunchtime, wench. Let’s go so I can feed you pasta.”


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Twelve inches of Dothraki meat is a lot to take in.”  
> He smirked and lowered a hand to her cunt. She gasped but melted against him as he squeezed the warm, damp juncture between her thighs. “You never have trouble taking me, wench.”  
> Despite her apple cheeks and half-closed eyes, she moaned, “You’re not twelve inches.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for my lovely catherineflowers. Bestest of the best! How lucky am I to have someone like her in my life?
> 
> Always in awe of your strength, dear. Ever in admiration. Mwah!
> 
> Guys, please go and check out the latest amazing update of Brienne Without Jaime, written by, can not be said enough, the bestest of the best catherineflowers! 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/21717478/chapters/53840626

The next day, Jon held his breath as Jaime very, very gently picked up an intricate sugar cage with his fingers. He made sure to give his boss room to not crowd him and incite his snarl. Just breathing wrong in Jaime’s direction would get a roar mighty enough to make the walls shake. Jon wasn’t alone. The kitchen was so still from everyone holding their breath as Jaime arranged the ultra-delicate, burnished gold cage on top of a puffy, tissue-soft crepe shaped into a triangle.

They watched as Jaime arranged strawberries around the dessert next, followed by what was seemingly a random but actually artful dusting of powdered sugar. The result was a snowy-looking dessert, luscious and promising luxury in every bite. It epitomized the decadence and celebration of Sevenfest.

Only when he stepped back from the table with his hand raised slightly did everyone let out a breath. Jon immediately took a Polaroid, to join the photos at the wall for reference. They were Jaime’s proposed desserts for the holiday menu.

“This looks right out of a Sevenfest dream if I may so, chef,” Jon said.

Jaime gave a brief nod and pointed at the other plates filled with desserts. “Pass these around.”

His proposed holiday menu was a mix of regular patisserie offerings made special and a couple of new desserts. On top of crafting the made-to-order kinky pastries himself, he also worked out the perfect combination of ingredients for the menu. Him imagination was boundless until faced against Brienne’s insistence in keeping expenses reasonable.

 _Brienne._ A sweet name for a whole lotta woman, Jaime thought, unable to stop himself from smirking when glancing at the office door. The clear glass frame of the door revealed her typing in front of the laptop, tongue loosely clamped between teeth. He took a deep breath, remembering her long tongue had done last night. _The places it had gone._.

While Jon continued passing desserts to the rest of the staff, others who had already begun to dig in began their enthusiastic proclamations of the desserts. Jaime got a tray and piled it with the desserts, leaving behind exultations. There was only one opinion he cared about.

He opened the door and was greeted by the sweet sight of the wench’s ass. High in the air, she was bent under the desk, grunting and cursing while wrestling with something. He smirked as her ass moved from side to side.

“Hey, wench, I’m home,” he announced, closing the door. Brienne moved, too quickly, banging her head under the table. He grimaced from her cry and quickly put the tray on a desk to pull her out. “Sorry for that.”

Together they stood up. Brienne was flushed and her forehead filmed with sweat. She rubbed the sore spot on her head. He had her bend her neck to see.

“Do you need ice?”

“No, I’m alright,” she answered, glaring at the spot she just came from. “The laptop’s power cord is fucked. The file I’ve been working on—also fucked.”

“Shit,” he muttered, knowing what that would entail. “Come here.”

A hug was all he could offer but she fell against him as if he’d rescued her from a hungry bear. He smiled through the crush of her embrace, her little pants on his neck and cheek bursts of summer.

“On the plus side,” she mumbled against his shoulder, “I’m off to the bank later to settle the last of the shop’s debt. You should come with me.”

It took a few seconds for Jaime to realize what she’d just said. He frowned and set her away from him, hands gripping her broad shoulders. Looking right into her eyes, he whispered, “Tell me you’re not fucking with me.”

She laughed at the seriousness of his expression. “I fuck you, Jaime. Never with you. Here.” He had to let go as she went to take something from a clear folder on the desk. She waved a rectangular sheet at him. “This is the last. It’s real.”

She said the last sentence softly, looping her arms around his neck while he read the number on the check. The world seemed to spin yet his feet remained firm on the ground. He was grateful for her big body to lean on. “I don’t fucking believe this.”

“We’re still a few days away from the deadline but we might as well pay the last of our debt,” she continued.

Incredulous, he turned to her. He pressed the check to his chest and breathed a huge lungful of air. “You saved me. You really did.”

“ _We_ saved the shop,” she corrected, kissing him on the cheek. “We’re finally free, Jaime.”

“ _You_ made it possible. _You_ fought with me to save it.” This time he crushed her in his arms. He pressed his face on her neck, glad she wasn’t shorter than him, thinner, or made of china. Her fresh scent was a welcome respite from the aroma of sugar, chocolate and butter. Laughing, he looked up at her. “Everything good that’s happened these recent months is because of you. Don’t deny it, wench. Let me have it because it’s true.”

He hugged her again. He was shaking, shocked and overwhelmed at her gift. No one had pushed him, believed in him, _loved_ him, as she did. She was solace and sanctuary. The very air he breathed.

And someday, she was marrying him.

He blinked furiously to clear his eyes. “Wench,” he mumbled, sniffling. Looking at her again, he said, “Wench, we have to celebrate.”

“I can get champagne when I go out. And order some canapes from Bronn.”

“No, no.” He chuckled. As puzzled eyes stared back at him, he clarified, “We just got out of debt. Champagne and canapes to feed everyone would put us right back at the mercy of Baelish Bank.”

“It’s alright. I’ll pay it—”

“No. Gods, you’re the sweetest and most generous person I know,” he said. He kissed her, loving the plumpness of her lips. He could nibble her all day. “Let’s keep it between us. Now, if I remember right, there’s a couple of steaks waiting for us back home.”

After having their pasta lunch yesterday, Jaime had taken her to Essositown, a nickname for an area in the city populated mainly by apartments, shops and businesses owned and operated by people from Essos. It was one of his favorite places. Besides the thrill of watching Brienne sample savory Braavosi sandwiches, Lysene sweet drops, Yi Ti octopus balls, he had impressed her with his knowledge of Essosi spices and cooking methods. They went home with large, thickly-cut steaks that he marinated in Pentoshi beer and other spices.

“I confess to never having beer-drenched steaks before. Or that they could be that big. Twelve inches of Dothraki meat is a lot to take in.”

He smirked and lowered a hand to her cunt. She gasped but melted against him as he squeezed the warm, damp juncture between her thighs. “You never have trouble taking me, wench.”

Despite her apple cheeks and half-closed eyes, she moaned, “You’re not twelve inches.”

“You make me feel like I am.”

She laughed then kissed him gently. He nibbled her in response. As he kissed her cheek, she glanced at the door. The blinds were up. The staff were making a clear effort to avoid the slightest swivel of their heads in the direction of the office. He sighed in frustration, wanting to fuck her so much. She was breathing fast. Her pussy was warmer. Her soft gaze, the way she shyly rocked against his hand, her reddening cheeks—signals that called for his cock. _Now._

He saw how fucking her right now would go. Drawing the blinds closed. Yanking off her jeans. He would have her on top, her thick thighs crushing his ribs. His mouth watered thinking of her plump, ripe nipples. He had suckled them harshly last night, addicted to her throaty cries. So they would be stiff. _Sensitive._ A brief lick should have her blasting off, come gushing from her pussy like a waterfall.

Then he would lick her clean: sweat from her neck, tits, their combined juices dripping from her pussy down to her thighs. His favorite meal of all time.

Some people, whether after having an awful day or in a celebratory mood, reached for ice cream. Jaime craved Brienne’s pussy. He smirked, fantasizing about going to war for her easy-to-wet pussy with the vise-like clutch. With the high from another culinary triumph and still on cloud nine with her promise to marry him someday, he needed her pussy _bad._

But his wench wasn’t comfortable fucking in the office. The day they first fucked on the counter and then in the office had been the last time they did it right at work. It had been the alley from the second day until winter hit. Then the three-star little hotel down the street that gave free cheese crackers to guests. That was usually his lunch—her mouth as appetizer, tits the main course, wet, hairy pussy his dessert.

Brienne had never refused him. Even right now, with her discomfort causing her bright, lusty stare to dull, she was never going to say no. But there was no pleasure in fucking a woman who complied rather than wanted him so fucking badly.

So he kissed her hard on the mouth, hoping it lasted until punching out for the day. Very, very reluctantly, he withdrew his hand.

Sapphire eyes blinked several times at him. She was confused, disbelieving. Sweating.

“Talk about something boring, wench.”

Her thick lips called for hungry kisses. He took another step back. Then she seemed to snap out of a daze and nodded. She closed her eyes, mouthed counting to three, then opened them. Scrambling for something to say, she blurted out, “Uh, I need a new power cord?”

“Right.” Jaime’s legs were a little unsteady. “A power cord. You think you’ll get one easily for your computer model?”

“I should. Maybe—maybe I’ll also have my computer checked.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“You think so?”

“You might as well. Since you’re getting the cord.”

“Yes. Yes, I should, right?”

They smiled at each other. He chuckled, unable to look away from her sweet, ugly red face. “I’m still going to fuck you when you’re ninety, wench.” He took her hand and kissed it.

“Don’t ever be gentle,” she whispered.

“Geriatrics getting sex injuries. Definitely something to look forward to.”

“Break everything. Just not your cock.”

She then kissed his flour-covered palm. Lacing her fingers through his, she looked at the tray of desserts. “They look so beautiful, Jaime. Too beautiful to eat, in fact.”

“Only the best for my wench. Also the proposed Sevenfest menu. Let me tell you about them.”

“Hang on. Let me make some room.”

Brienne took the dishes from the tray then arranged them on her desk. She stashed her laptop in the backpack then turned to Jaime. First, he showed her the Sevenfest variation of Wenches. Decorated with edible silver and gold and offered in pink and white colors, he thought they could call them Wench Trees. Their shape was similar to the pine trees in the north. Their classic chocolate chip cookies were also getting the Sevenfest treatment in that they came with cranberries and white chocolate chips.

“So, so good,” Brienne half-groaned. Jaime was pleased she had emptied the plates containing the two desserts. As she licked her fingers, he noticed that the area around her jaw and neck had softened, no longer as clearly delineated. There was no missing the new curve of her tits under her sweater.

Jaime loved her pointy little buds but looked forward to a booby Brienne in the future. The new roundness of her ass was certainly shaping the way.

“You like them?” He asked, although already knowing the answer.

“We’re going to make a fucking killing. But how much will this cost us?”

“Now, wench, you know I don’t like using dried anything unless I make it myself—”

“Uh-huh.” She swallowed the last of the cookie, delicately wiped the corners of her lips clean and looked him in the eye. “Let me guess. The cranberries are fresh.”

“Packed dried cranberries taste so fucking plasticky.” He complained. “You can’t tell me you don’t see the difference.”

“Oh, I do. And also the difference in the cost of ready, dried cranberries from the fresh ones you’ll be, I don’t know, pruning here. Or drying. Bathing in champagne. Jaime,” she cupped his face. “You have to be reasonable.” 

“But it’s worth it. All the other shops will have cranberries but store-bought _dried_ cranberries.” He shuddered despite the warmth of her touch. “The freshness of our cranberries is what will make them run to us, Brienne. Heck, people love the Oathporkers precisely because we make our own bacon. It’s healthier and there’s no harmful preservatives.”

“Healthy bacon. Two words I never thought would ever go together. Jaime, I’m not giving my yes yet, okay. I love the upgraded chocolate chip and cranberry cookies. That I will say. But I need numbers first.”

“You’re so sexy when you play hardball.”

“Stop it.” A little slap on his cheek then she let go, plucking a piece off the next plate. He smirked as she squinted at it. “Feels like candy, like chocolate but. . “ she sniffed. “Oh. Heaven. What’s this?”

“Have a bite, wench. Go on.”

She stared at the pink and white candies before biting in half the piece she had picked up. As she chewed, he began his spiel.

“When you say Sevenfest, the colors you usually associate with it are glistening red, like cranberries, green, gold. They look great for decorations and desserts. But don’t you think it’s time we shake up the colors of the season?” 

Brienne chuckled as she plucked another oblong-shaped candy from the dish. “I never thought pink and white would be revolutionary but go on.”

“We’re not going to shake the very foundations of Sevenfest, of course. Just give it a new spin. Make things fresh but without making them unrecognizable. You’re eating candy but it’s different right?”

“It’s not the usual, true. I find the ribbed pattern on top then how it dips in the middle intriguing. What’s this supposed to be?” She took another piece, eating it with gusto. “Is this strawberry and. . .well, they’re both strawberry-flavored. I like the crunchy bits. Kind of like the Maiden’s Nipples but without the cream filling. And different textures. You can just keep popping on this and be a blimp before you know it.”

He smiled. “I’m glad.”

“Do you think we should sell them individually or in a pack?”

“A pack would be nicer, actually. Then they can be gifts right off. I guess you like it, huh?”

Brienne winked and took a little bite. “Are there more?”

“I can always make you more.”

“Then I love it. But the shape, Jaime. Why not just have it be a smooth circle? Or a square? What’s with the ridges and the dip? Oh, and I haven’t asked but what’s the name?”

“Evenstars,” he drawled.

“They don’t really look like stars.”

“The ridged pattern can be, if you squint a bit, tilt your head. What do you think it reminds you of?” He couldn’t keep his eyes from her attacking the rest of the candy. “I’ll give you a clue. This was inspired by you.”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “I know they’re not my nipples.”

“Definitely not.”

“This isn’t my. . .” She blushed and whispered, _“Cunt.”_

He laughed. “No.”

“Elbow?”

“You have sexy elbows, that’s true. But I can’t exactly fuck them, can I?”

She blushed another shade. “I would think this is my mouth because of the dip but the ridges---”

“No, wench. Not your mouth. Guess.”

She was adorable with that ugly frown and her pale eyebrows almost meeting. As he struggled to contain himself from revealing the answer, she suddenly gasped. Narrowed her eyes at him before they widened to take up nearly half her face.

 _“Jaime!”_ She shrieked. _“You didn’t!”_

“What? What do you think it is?”

She picked up one of the candies. “I don’t have a massive asshole!”

“Oh, you do, wench. Believe me. You do. And it’s the cutest, most darling thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve never used the word darling ever.”

“Evenstars! Jaime! The Evenstar is kind of sacred to some people—you can’t name ass-looking candy after it!”

“Oh I absolutely fucking can! There’s no trademark, copyright, whatever. It’s not as if we’re going to come right out and say these are candy asses, wench. That’s between you and me. I’d ask you if I got the flavor right but I’m the only one who knows, don’t I?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know whether to murder or slap you.”

“Throw me kisses instead, wench. If you do decide on murder, let it be under your big thighs.”

“You’re unbelievable,” she said faintly.

“Can I help it that your body inspires me so much? Be grateful I’m not into feet, wench. Although I love they rival the size of submarines.”

Brienne looked at him with a mix of exasperation and resignation. Jaime took her in his arms. “If you don’t want this in the menu or offered by the shop now or in the future, tell me. I won’t be disappointed. I won’t be angry. I wanted an ode of sorts to the wonderland sugarland that is your body, wench. That’s all. I won’t do anything that you dislike. You have my word.”

She looked at the rest of the candies. She nibbled on her lips then looked at him. “I taste like strawberries? Back there?”

“Hell yeah,” he whispered.

“I thought that was my, er, cunt.”

“Strawberries and cream,” he clarified. “Then ripe strawberries for your asshole.”

She suddenly laughed. He didn’t know whether to join her, worried she was probably hysterical or would slap him when he did. Instead she engulfed him in a hug so tight he felt as if the life was squeezed out of him. It would be a nice way to go too.

“So,” he half-gasped. “Is it a go, wench? The evenstars?”

“You leave me no choice,” she murmured. She was the color of apples again, and her eyes bright like stars. “What woman wouldn’t go mad for her boyfriend making candy inspired by her asshole?”

“It’s the same woman who wants nothing more than to have her boyfriend’s cock in her mouth for Sevenfest,” he said softly, hoping to get her blush deeper. _Jackpot._

She let out a breath and slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “I can’t believe you repeated that.”

“There’s no forgetting it, wench. This is the first time in my adult life I look forward to Sevenfest. You should practice taking cucumbers, aubergines. . .”

She kissed him, shutting him up. He wasn’t going to refuse. He needed another hit of her hot kiss. “I only aim to please you,” he said between kisses. “If that means fucking your mouth all day, then I will.”

It was beyond Seven Heavens being in her arms, kissing her and getting intoxicated by her scent and warm, freckled skin. He was glad she kept him in a loose embrace, kissing him back and murmuring sweet nonsense that made him stir and rue the remaining hours of work. Mercifully, she pulled away and turned her attention to the third dish. It was the dessert with the sugar cage over a crepe.

“This is interesting. Intricate.” She glanced at him, looking proud and soft. “Beautiful.”

Jaime began to answer when someone knocked and opened the door. They turned to see Jon looking upset.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But there’s a call from Blackfish Farms. The roads are impassable because of the weather and the bacon will not arrive on time.”

“Shit,” Jaime and Brienne said together. Oathporkers were rolled out of the kitchen all day. There was still enough bacon for the advance orders to be picked up tomorrow and the next, and from what was left over, just enough for what the shop sold to walk-ins. Nothing more.

“Exactly,” Jon agreed.

“Jaime—” Brienne stopped as he kissed her firmly, to reassure her and for strength.

“Let me worry about this. Everything will be alright,” he told her. She nodded and he swept out of the office, Jon following behind. “There can be no delay. The oathporkers are our best-seller. We’re fucked in the ass if we don’t have bacon.”

“We can halve the amount per cupcake to make it last longer,” Jon suggested. Jaime made a face and the young man sighed. “I know you don’t like it. But who knows with the bacon?”

Jaime rubbed his temples and picked up the phone. “This is Jaime Lannister. Who’s this?”

*******  
While Brienne could overhear Jaime loudly trying to sort the mess of the bacon delivery, she had one of the kitchen staff put the third dessert in the fridge. Jaime liked describing his new food inventions first before she could taste them. It would have to wait.

As she watched Theon cart it away, she noted that something about the presentation of the dessert, especially the burnished-colored sugar cage, was strangely familiar. She shrugged then wiped her sugary palms down the front of her pants.

There was still three hours left at work. Time enough for her to hit line up at the bank to deposit the last check then the computer store for a new power cord and a diagnostic on her laptop. As she buckled her backpack closed, the office phone rang.

“The Sapphire Patisserie. How many I help you?” She asked.

“Brienne. It’s Bronn.” He sounded breathless. And possibly close to tears. “Honey, look. Is Jaime around? I need to speak to him.”

Before Brienne could answer, Jaime’s shout filled the kitchen. “Four fucking days? That’s fresh bacon in your truck. By the time it gets here it won’t be fucking fresh anymore. I’m not selling shit like that, you hear me?”

“Er, Bronn—”

He sighed. “I heard it. I’ll call him back later.”

“You sound awful. Maybe I can help?”

“It’s a huge favor, actually. I was hoping if I could go to his place and cook there. My oven’s fucked.”

“Oh.”

“Any other day, I’ll just get takeout, you know? It’s just me. But tonight’s special and I’d fucking cut off my balls first before serving fast-food chicken or whatever greasy shit that’s selling these days. Do you know there’s a restaurant serving waffle fries on a toilet?”

“What?”

“Not an actual toilet. But one of those toy toilet things. It’s supposed to be cool and funny. I don’t understand these fucking hipster places. I see toilet and I don’t think fries. And don’t get me started on those disgusting charcoal sundaes.”

“Yeah.” Brienne scratched her head, looking at Jaime thumping his fist on the steel table. The rest of the kitchen staff were giving him a wide berth and moving quickly, continuing with their work. She closed the door. “Me neither. Uh, Bronn, what about the oven?”

He groaned. “It’s for tonight. I have someone coming over. I was going to make my beef tenderloin. . .” his voice trailed off. Brienne frowned.

“Bronn, are you _crying_?”

“Of course not!” He protested but a couple of sniffles gave him away. “Bottom line, I had this fantastic menu planned designed to make panties drop—”

“Maybe skip that part when talking to me.”

“Right.” He chuckled. “I forgot. Sorry, Brienne. Anyway, I’m fucked. And I’ve made such a big deal with his dinner because it kept getting cancelled with the pipes at my place freezing and all those fucked up deliveries. And my friend has been through hell too. We’ve kind of said that if another reason stops us from having dinner again, maybe it’s not meant to be.”

“Oh, Bronn. I’m so sorry.”

“She’s special. Hey, maybe, ah, Jaime has mentioned her?”

“No. We’re pretty busy ourselves and went to a wedding this weekend. He’s met her then?” Count on Jaime to never mention anything about Bronn’s girl.

“You can say that.”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean, yeah. He’s met her. But it was like, hi-hello and they were off. I mean, he was off. You get it.”

Brienne smiled, resting her chin on her fist. “So, she’s special?”

“She’s great.”

“I suppose at some point I’ll get to meet her?”

“Um. . .maybe?”

“Not fair, Bronn. Jaime gets to meet her and I don’t? What on earth?”

“It’s not that—”

“What I’m saying is, it’s inevitable she and I will meet. So let’s just do it. Come over. Tonight.”

“Huh?”

“Let’s have it at my place because I at least have a proper dining area while Jaime just has his guests eat off the coffee table in his apartment. Come over. We got some thick-cut steaks from Braavos that’s been marinating in beer since last night. Don’t worry about the food. We have it.”

“I don’t know, Brienne—”

Brienne let out an exasperated sound. “Bronn, I’m trying to help you. If you want, you and Jaime can go cook up a storm in my kitchen or whatever. Then she and I—what’s her name?”

“Ros,” Bronn said in a small voice.

“Ros? You mean Rose.”

“No. Ros. Brienne, maybe you should ask Jaime first—”

“Nonsense. It’s my apartment, my kitchen. It’s not a big deal having to cook for two more people anyway. We’re always stuck with leftovers until halfway through the week. And this is Dothraki steak, Bronn. Now I don’t know meat. But we got a couple of monsters. Twelve inches. Each.”

“Yeah.”

“So, what do you say? Seven-thirty at my place? Cool. Let me give you the address.”

After Bronn wrote it down, he said, “You saved me, Brienne. You really did.”

“Glad to help, really.” She said sincerely.

She got ready to go out, donning coat, scarf, gloves and woolen cap. She went to Jaime, who was still on the phone but without the tight-lipped expression now. Seeing her approach, he stretched out his arm, inviting her to move close. She swiped at the flour on his beard as he put an arm around her waist.

“Everything fixed?” She asked, licking her fingers. Not flour. Powdered sugar.

“Not yet. I’m hoping to get this special motorbike service to get the bacon and bring it here.” He sighed and dropped his head on her shoulder. “I’m on hold.”

“Jaime, I know I’m treading on dangerous ground here. But for once can we just get store-bought bacon?”

“No. I’m sorry.” He raised his head. “I know I’m being unreasonable. But those kind of bacon are more fat than lean. The difference would be obvious, trust me.”

“Alright. You know this best. But try to think about what I said.” She kissed him on the cheek, resisting the urge to nuzzle and wrap a leg around his thigh. He smelled so much better when testosterone coursed through him like mad. Like pastry baking in the oven. “I’m off to the bank then the power cord. Will you be okay?”

“I’ll get this sorted. Be careful and hurry back. I don’t want to miss you too much.”

She smiled and kissed him on the lips this time. “You know where the petty cash is. By the way, I invited Bronn and his friend over to dinner tonight. He was crying, I swear it. Broken oven and all and apparently the dinner they were supposed to have was a make-or-break.”

“Yeah? Bronn has a friend? You mean me?”

She laughed. “No. Pay attention. How come you didn’t tell me about his girlfriend? Ros. Yeah. That’s her name.”

Jaime held her tighter and he gulped. He frowned so she put a hand on his stomach. “What is it? Indigestion?”

He flushed and shook his head. “No, it’s not that. Ah. He’s bringing her over, then?”

“Yeah. How long have they been going out? And why didn’t you tell me?”

Jaime’s expression, she was sure, was like a deer caught in the headlights. He scrubbed a hand through his face as if to erase it, replacing the expression with something too bland, too innocent. She frowned.

“Ah, I forgot. I mean, we’ve been so busy. And you know, it was only like, once.”

“Once?”

“Okay, a few times. But it was no big deal.” He was getting redder.

Jaime hardly blushed. Brienne wondered if there was something embarrassing about meeting Bronn’s girlfriend. “Bronn told me it was more of hi-hello. Which is it?”

“Oh!” Jaime laugh was loud, hollow and forced. Some of the staff gave them looks. “I mean we. . .I . . .Bronn and I met her _once_. Hang on, let me get this right. Bronn introduced her to me once. Yes. That’s it. But he talks so much about her it feels like I’ve. . .seen her. Many times.”

“Alright.” Reluctantly, she stepped out of his embrace. “I won’t take long, as ordered.”

She turned to go, heading for the exit at the back. As she pulled open the door, somebody grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. “Jaime,” she gasped, seeing the blur of his golden hair and emerald eyes before his mouth crushed her lips. He slammed her against the door, holding her face in his sugar-dusted hands as he ate her mouth. She groaned and kissed him back, taking him in her arms to lift him off his feet. He wrapped a leg around her hip.

“Jaime, I—”

“Wench.” He slid back to the floor, but they remained pressed together. He licked her swollen lip. As she quivered and swayed, he whispered, “Don’t forget you love me.”

“Of course I’m not—”

 _“Brienne.”_ He sounded pained and desperate. She blinked. “Remember.”

She nodded weakly, still hot from the sudden passion and a little dazed from the intensity of the kiss. Jaime picked up her scarf from the floor. He wound it around her neck, kissed her again then walked away.

She stared after him, wondering about the strangeness of his request. _He did say he doesn’t want to miss me too much._ Grinning, she pulled open the door and stepped out into the snow.

The line at the bank was short and she felt like cheering out loud once the teller passed a copy of the receipt of payment. After months of being in the red, monitoring their sales and expenses, she wished to shout and sing for joy. She left the bank smiling as if she’d won a million golden dragons.

Her smile lasted all the way to the computer store. She got the power cord quickly but the wait to be seen by a technician took an hour. He ran through the preliminaries, checking that the power cord was working, that the hardware and software were still running well—or as well enough as possible for a machine three years old and counting. She half-listened through his advice but when he shifted to sales talk, she shut him right down with a curt but still polite refusal. Besides not being interested, she had just been cleared of debt. Now wasn’t the time for luxuries while sorting out the rest of her professional life.

Back in the street, her thoughts went to Selwyn. He always had great advice for her. She didn’t know how he would react about Jaime, how he might have taken Renly destroying her career, but she could always count on him to put her happiness first. As fucked as things were for her professionally right now, she had found happiness. She loved Jaime. She was marrying him.

Still, she wished so much her dad was around. If not to give her advice then to sink in his warm, soft embrace. He always smelled of spices and sugar, sometimes smoke. That scent had slowly disappeared the more time he spent outside the kitchen. It saddened her that his smell was just a memory rather than a lingering presence what with his apartment now rented out, his clothes save for a few shirts and sweaters now keeping someone in great need warm. The rest of his stuff, like old kitchen equipment and wares had put in storage. She had brought home his kitchen knives.

Realizing she had teared up a little thinking of Selwyn, she swiped a mittened hand across her eyes and continued walking. There was only so much from the past she could take. While there was a lot of hurt, there was some good. These she would bring with her to many more tomorrows. Tomorrows with Jaime.

That was one thing she was certain about. She didn’t know how to pick up the pieces of what was left of her advertising career, if any. Didn’t know how to start her own agency, should she go in that direction. Most of her life now was lived day by day. But Jaime. Now that was someone she was sure about. Knew she would wake up next to him, could count on many kisses throughout the day, the tender, playful tone he used only with her.

As she headed for the subway to take her back to the shop, a familiar voice with a velvety accent called her name. She turned, trying to look for the source then found it. “Mr. Strickland.”

She straightened up as the CEO of The Golden Company shuffled toward her. Balding with yellow-white hair, an unsteady stride, he didn’t project a powerful figure despite the clean, elegant lines of his tan coat, tailored suit and shiny loafers. He squinted up at her, a smile on his face. “It is you. Forgive my lack of speed and grace coming to you, Brienne. Blisters and all,” he added, glancing at his feet.

“No apologies necessary,” She assured him.

“How are you? You look good.” There was the faint note of surprise in his tone. Brienne braced herself. It wouldn’t be surprising if the false rumors Renly planted about her reached Harry Strickland too. “I miss your winning touch on my campaigns.”

She flushed. “That’s—that’s nice of you to say so, sir.”

“We’re not renewing our contract with Spectrum,” he said, startling her. He shrugged. “Brienne, they were wrong to let you go.”

“It’s not like they did, sir, it was—”

“Oh, I know.” He waved his hand. “You resigned. You were right to. I only wish we knew what Renly had done early on or we would have pulled out before he put that mediocre fool in the campaign. Would have saved us millions. We were both blindsided.”

“The campaign ran in the end, didn’t it?”

He shrugged. “It shouldn’t have, but my people thought since we’d already put in the money, we might as well use it. It hasn’t done us any favors. What are you up to now?”

“Um. . .I’m taking a break actually—”

His eyes dropped to her tits then belly. “You pregnant?”

“No!” Brienne was annoyed. Why was it every time a woman took a break from work it was assumed she was knocked up? Was that the only reason? “I’m taking a break. From advertising. I’ve taken over. . .I mean I’m running. . .this patisserie. The Sapphire Patisserie.”

Harry frowned. “This wouldn’t be the place with the odd cupcakes with the bacon, is it?”

Brienne laughed. “That’s the one.”

“It’s all over. News. Magazines. Blogs. Trending still.” Harry was visibly impressed.

“It’s—my—my fiancé is the chef. He’s behind those cupcakes. I do more of the management and promotions side. Advertising still but nothing like The Golden Company,” she said wistfully.

“You? The marketing, the social media presence—that’s you?”

“Well, my fiancé and I—” She couldn’t seem to stop saying that word.

“Getting married, aren’t you?” Harry grinned. “Well, that’s good. That’s good. Anything else on your plate?”

She smiled back. “Depends on what I have to make room for.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Harry reached in his pocket and pulled out a business card. “I don’t know if you still have my number. But take this anyway. Let’s talk one of these days. And bring those cupcakes people have been raving about.”

Brienne stared at his card but wasn’t really reading the letters and numbers there. Was this a job offer? “Mr. Strickland—”

“I have to go. But I liked seeing you. Don’t make me wait too long, alright?” Then just like that, he was off, muttering about snow and blisters on his feet. Brienne stared after him, still trying to believe what had just happened.

She was making a whole lot of something out of a very probable nothing. Still, she couldn’t resist. She ducked inside a gift shop and called Jaime.

“Hey,” she said after hearing his harried hello. “I thought to check on you. How’s the bacon crisis?”

He sighed. “It’s great to hear your voice, wench. I’m just about to head out.”

“Head out where?” She demanded. As he sighed again, she groaned. “Oh, gods. You’re going to get the bacon yourself. Jaime, please. For the love of the Seven—”

“I know, I know. Why not use store-bought bacon this time. We can let this shipment go. _I can’t, Brienne_. I fucking can’t.” She heard a shuffle. He must be changing out of his uniform and into street clothes. “I’m irrational, fucking unreasonable, a total hard-ass when it comes to food, the ingredients that go into them but—Brienne, this is who I am. And asshole me is the reason no motorbike rider will accept the job. I’ve no choice.”

This time she sighed. Picking up a heart-shaped candy dish from a shelf, she said, “I see.”

“No. You don’t understand. This is who I really am.”

She hugged the dish. “I know what I’m marrying.”

“Don’t you mean who?”

She grinned. “Sometimes you’re a fucking monster in the kitchen, Jaime. But you’re never a bad person. And I’m not just saying that because I have love and sex blinders on.”

“Are you sure? I remember you hit your head on the headboard quite a lot last night.”

“Yeah. About that. Do you have some fantasy fucking me where I pretend to be unconscious?”

“Excuse me, miss?” The irate voice of the shopkeeper behind her warned that she was being loud. Brienne reddened and felt herself burn. “Are you buying something?”

“Er. . this?” She held up the heart dish.

“There’s no fun fucking someone dead to the world,” Jaime drawled, chuckling. He had no doubt overheard her getting reprimanded. “Not that I’ve tried. I like to be told what to do. And hearing how much a woman wants my cock.”

“Not just your cock,” she whispered.

“What’s that again, wench?” The bastard was smiling.

“Fuck you.” She walked to the cashier, putting the dish on the table and digging out her wallet. “Where’s the truck stuck?”

“Some thirty or so miles out of the city. That’s good progress already. ”

 _“Jaime.”_ The bill almost ripped in her hands as she snatched it too roughly from the wallet. The shopkeeper gave her a look then took it. “You’re driving that far in this weather? You really do feel that strongly against store-bought bacon.”

“You said you know what you’re marrying, wench.”

“Who.”

“Just checking.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised if next time you insist on picking berries yourself. Or producing the flour yourself. Just be careful. I don’t like this, but I can’t stop you. Why don’t I cancel the dinner tonight?”

“No, don’t. Bronn hardly gets laid.” Brienne thought he sounded annoyed. “And you said the dinner is their make-or-break. He’ll curse our children up to seven generations if he doesn’t fuck a woman soon.”

“Okay. Dinner’s still a go, then.”

“I’ll try not to be late. But if I am, will you take care of the steaks for me?”

“You’re trusting me with your meat?” She joked. “You’re sure you’re not, I don’t know, high on vanilla reductions or something? Seriously, you want me to take care of _your_ meat? The way you were talking about those Dothraki steaks, it’s as if they were made by the Seven themselves instead of, I don’t know, evolution. Butchers.”

“Your hands are magic, and your mouth is clearly made for _my_ meat,” he half-growled. “Yes, please. Would you? Or hey, what about Bronn? Make the fucker work for his meal.”

“Oh no. I’m doing the meat. He’ll have to make do with the salad.” She couldn’t tell him about Harry now. Not when he had a long drive ahead and back. “You have to go. Please, please be careful.”

“Will you be wearing panties for the dinner?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Wench, if you’re not, let’s just say being careful is the last thing I’ll worry about. It’s not right to not fuck you when you’re commando. One of these days you should welcome me home with your pussy out. Wet and ready to be fucked.”

 _“Jaime.”_ She squirmed, feeling that familiar moisture and warmth between her legs. “Stop it. And don’t you dare take your eyes off the road or drive fast. Get your head out of my. . .you know what.”

“I shouldn’t have to,” he complained. “Alright. I’m off, wench. I love you.”

He hung up before she could say she loved him too. As she put the phone away, the cashier held out the bag to her. “Have a nice day, miss,” she was told sarcastically. She took the bag and hurried out of the store.

Though she knew Jaime wouldn’t be there when she returned to the shop, she was still disappointed. She took over the cashier to give Shae a break. When she wasn’t behind the cashier, she was calling for fresh refills and arranging them. She assisted several customers in filling out advance order forms. When Shae returned, she went back to the office. She worked on her laptop, now with the new cord. She signed checks until it was closing time.

On her way home, she swung by the supermarket to load up on ingredients for the salad then dessert. She worked on the dessert as soon as she was home, since the chocolate cream pie needed to be cooled a few hours before served. As she mixed eggs and chocolate, she thought about the first time she and Jaime had kissed. Chocolate cream pie had always been her favorite because of the memories of love and comfort from Selwyn. Her other reason now was because of Jaime. He had tasted of decadence and sex the first time they kissed, making her forget the pain from Selwyn’s death for a few moments.

She finished preparing the dessert an hour before Bronn and his girlfriend were set to arrive. She thought to call Jaime but didn’t want him distracted, not while he was driving on slick, dangerous roads.

Because she hadn’t done laundry over the weekend, there wasn’t plenty of choices for a nice-ish dinner outfit in the closet. In the end she picked a long-sleeved, pinstriped shirt. It had been Selwyn’s but tailored to fit him. It was loose around her shoulders and the sleeves too long but somehow, it fell on her just right.

Jaime loved it on her. She’d worn it only once before, during one of their weekend shopping trips. He said she looked like summer in the shirt. And so fucking sexy.

She had worn jeans that time and old sneakers. Jaime kept going on and on about how she made him hard. They ended up fucking on the floor of her apartment, their feet sticking out of the open door, vegetables, cheeses, packed meat scattered around them. The shirt remained on.

If Jaime were around now and he saw her in this. . . she blushed, fumbling with the buttons. Dinner might as well be cancelled. Fucking her once was never enough for him. In a night, he fucked her at least twice. On a weekend with little to do, his cock was hardly out of her cunt. Or mouth

It was still novel. Not as disorienting anymore but still very much new, to be wanted so much. And also to never stop wanting someone so much.

She finished buttoning the shirt closed then put on a pair of flat-front slacks. She brushed her hair, putting it up because Jaime liked to see her ears and nape. A few tendrils escaped the hair tie and little flips framed her chin.

Back in the kitchen, she took out the glass dishes containing the marinated steaks. As she placed them on the counter, someone rang the doorbell. She skipped to the intercom, pressing a button. “Yes?”

“Brienne, honey? It’s us.” Bronn said.

“Hey, there. Come on up.” She pressed the button again and heard the door downstairs open. It didn’t take long for a knock to reach her door.

“Bronn!” She greeted him, truly pleased to have him and his guest over. He smiled at her and opened his arms to pull her into a hug. He smelled like a deli. It wasn’t unpleasant but she preferred pastries.

“Thanks for saving me, Brienne.” He said, hugging her tightly and patting her on the back. As they pulled away from each other, he looked to his left. “Uh, so this is my friend, Ros—”

“Hey.” Ros stared at Brienne in surprise. Brienne looked at her with the same expression. As they shook hands, Ros remarked, “I know you. Sort of.”

“Yeah. . .” Brienne said slowly, flipping through memories. Then she found it. Silver dress. Red curls. _He sure is one pastry bag that makes many women happy._

Bronn suddenly coughed and Ros patted him between the shoulder blades. She smiled at Brienne. “Yeah, we’ve met! I remember now.”

“You have?” Bronn grunted. “Uh, Ros, maybe—”

More memories hit Brienne. She remembered. This woman. Friendly. Nice. _Pastry bag Jaime._ She opened her mouth, not knowing exactly what to say but Ros was too fast.

“Bronn!” the redhead exclaimed. She was bouncing on her heels and kept grinning at Brienne. “Did you bring me here for a threesome?”


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I was Jaime Lannister. Sugarslayer.” He spat out the word. “Four years grand champion. But for what? I almost lost the shop. The man who was more of a father to me than the real one died. I hurt his daughter. I knew from the first moment I didn’t deserve Brienne. I wanted so much to forget who I used to be. I wanted to be the man she deserved—the person her father believed in. But I guess I fooled her too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update has been hanging over my head for over a month. Besides feeling like I'm back to square one with writing fanfic, it's also hard to make the time and concentrate because I had to study for an upcoming exam. . .which is now on hold because of the lockdowns and general suspension of normal activities nearly all over. I guess being able to update is the one silver lining there is, if this can be called that.
> 
> A million thanks and you know, just a lot of love for catherineflowers sticking by me and letting me pick her brain. I plunged into a writing coma to do this and she was with me every step of the way!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

For two hours Jaime had been on the road, the car radio on full volume for weather updates. Two fruitless hours that had him turning back to the city upon spotting the police blockade. As he made the U-turn, the news radio reported about a storm expected to hit during the early hours of the morning. Schools were advised to cancel classes and businesses to close due to harsh winds, impassable roads and power outages. He sighed loudly, ruing the wasted effort and time, gas. He shifted to low gear and slowed down because the roads gleamed like silver mirrors.

Though Blackfish’s offer of a discount was still in effect, Jaime had put an end to it with the delivery prior to this one. The help was invaluable but for the fresh start long overdue, it was best to never owe any supplier anything besides payment. He also wanted to have the right to demand on-time delivery and refunds due to possible delays or failures on the part of the supplier. His instincts served him right on this one. As he drove, he thought about Brienne pressing him to find a local supplier—in the long run it was cheaper and delivery failures fewer.

Now the shop wouldn’t have any bacon for a few days. Oathporkers were their best-sellers and there were advance orders. They couldn’t afford to take this hit. The storm was set to fell trees and who knew what else—deliveries would be delayed for days, weeks.

The option left sickened Jaime, but he’d been raised hard. The only way of dealing through shit was to go through it.. So he pulled up in front of the first supermarket he sighed once within city limits.

It was one of those small, family-owned supermarkets rather than belonging to a chain superstore with wide aisles and giant carts. Only a basket had been available. Heartsick, he trudged to the meat and frozen food section, shuddering from the inevitability of touching one of those heavily-processed, chemical-heavy packs of _commercial_ bacon.

The short walk to the cashier with a basketful was similar to the climb up the executioner’s block. Head bowed in shame, he flinched at every beep that sounded as each pack of bacon was swiped across the scanner.

The woman, fat with limp hair, asked, “How long do you expect to be snowed in?” On a nametag was the name Walda.

He sighed and reached for his wallet. “Not for me, lady. And hopefully not to a lot of customers.”

He stashed the huge bag of bacon on the floor of the passenger seat. As soon as he was done, he suddenly retched in the snow. He groaned through the hellish process until his guts were empty and his head was a little clear. He returned to the store for a soda.

As Walda rang it up, she looked at him carefully. “Sir, are you alright? Are you sick or something?”

Jaime paid for the soda then quickly untabbed it. He took a little sip then turned back to her. “I hate compromise that’s all.”

He finished the fizzy, sugary drink by the truck, swirling it in his mouth before spitting on the snow again. Getting back inside, he saw the bulging pack of bacon again. He made a face then started the engine.

During the drive he kept glancing at the phone, alert for the flash of light that told of a message or better yet, a call. But Brienne was not the sort to call or message an SOS unless the situation was life-threatening. In truth he dreaded her call—the argument over Margaery and his past dealings were still too fresh. Ros—

_I could have told her. She said we could cancel the dinner and I refused. I fucking did this to her. To us._

He had vowed to be a better man. He failed her. Again.

He drove to the patisserie first, refusing to have the blasted, cursed meat in either of their apartments. The walk-in freezer seemed more forgiving than the elements outside, and the avalanche of Brienne’s wrath. His silence had pulled the rug from under her, if it hadn’t already. But regrets and cursing this Mereenese knot of a situation were pointless. As he had always done, he would have to go through the storm, this time of his own making.

The drive home was a blur. It seemed he was in a dream floating rather than walking, the night fogged in gray and the lights from shop windows and apartment buildings faint like the farthest of stars. The jangle of keys as he unlocked the door had a muffled rather than sharp, silvery sound.

“Finally!” Bronn’s greeting made him jump. Jaime clutched the doorknob, noticing his best friend was standing over the dining table, wine bottle in hand. Behind him, already seated at the head, was Brienne.

“Get over here. We didn’t think you’d make it until later,” Bronn said, pouring wine into the women’s glasses. Jaime didn’t move, drinking up the vision of Brienne. Amidst the aroma of exotic spices and meat perfectly seared, he detected her soft, natural scent.

She was delectable with her short hair swept back in the loose style he liked, with feathery tendrils framing her ears and nape. She wore the striped, oversized shirt he loved on her. It made him think of kisses and sweat.

He had felt himself stir and almost groaned out loud. Thoughts and emotions had been fucking him since being told about the dinner but there was a part of him that was unapologetically unaffected. He pulled the edge of his sweater down, making sure to cover his erection.

“Hey there, Jaime.” Ros, despite her brilliant red hair, had been a blur. He barely noticed her. Not when Brienne’s eyes revealed the pain of someone who’d taken a knife to the heart.

_I did that._

“Hey.” Bronn startled him again. “Take off your fucking coat and eat. You need it.”

Brienne looked at him again. Anyone who caught them would think they were sharing a tender, intimate look. Only Jaime knew what the diminished gleam in her eyes meant. And the almost-sound of her too-soft voice.

“Please, Jaime.”

She said it quickly rather than the slow drag she employed over the syllables that made him hard. He swallowed, hating himself for what he was putting her through. Then she suddenly looked away, as if she couldn’t stand to see him for another second. He could only watch her dip the steak in red wine sauce—a personal recipe of his. He had taught her the recipe because it was his favorite and thought to suck it from her tongue.

Given his nondisclosure, the only tongue action he would be getting was a verbal lashing.

When it was clear she was never going to get up and greet him with a kiss, Jaime disappeared behind the closet to put away his coat, scarf and hat. He rejoined them, trying to get Brienne to look at him again. Like really look. Instead he got a brief glance and an order.

“You should change. There’s a fresh shirt for you in the bedroom.”

“Right,” he said after a pause.

When he walked past her, she didn’t look up from slicing into her salad and loading up her fork. As he changed out of his cold, snow-dusted clothes, raucous laughter sounded from outside. He glanced in the direction before putting on the crisp navy button-down waiting in bed. He also changed his jeans into trousers, bulky boots for loafers. In the bathroom, he threw water to his face then looked in the cabinet for mouthwash.

Something pricked the backs of his eyes while staring at the contents of the medicine cabinet. He had no idea why but seeing his and Brienne’s things together tend to give him a pause and his heart skip a beat. They had designated shelves in the mix of bandages, alcohol, cotton balls, Q-tips. In his shelf were cologne, electric shaver, aftershave, deodorant, hair products that ensured the bounce in his golden mane no matter the weather. Brienne kept tampons, pantyliners, deodorant, eye and neck creams, toner.

He found the mouthwash and shut the cabinet. He swirled it in his mouth, spat in the sink.

Then, rather than head straight out, he closed the toilet seat and sat down, head pillowed in his hands.

Though the sheets and pillowcases have long been changed, the bedroom still smelled of fucking. Brienne was embarrassed while he loved it. But their most intimate scents were in the bathroom. They kept the laundry hamper in it, for one, in the shelf under the towels. He sniffed, finding some comfort in the subtle scent of Brienne’s pussy under the mix of soap, shampoo, aftershave. In the little trash bin were crumpled tissue, balls of hair plucked from the drain, grayed cotton balls, floss.

He’d never had this kind of intimacy, this soul-deep connection with anyone before. It had been a hard road—it still was, because there was still so much of himself he loathed and kept from Brienne. Now that self-hatred was going to undo everything. _Everything._

So he let himself cry a little. A grown man in his forties crying in the toilet. Once again he washed his face, grateful for the icy water.

“I was just telling Brienne how strange it is we never once met in Baelish Bank,” Ros told him as he rejoined them at the table a few moments later. “ I’ve been wanting to give you a call, Jaime. Congratulate you on paying the rest of your loan but it’s been hell at the bank what with the approaching holidays and then the end of the year.”

 _Seven fucking hells._ Jaime focused on the wine streaming into his glass as Bronn poured it. He refused to look at Brienne as Ros went on. But he shot a glare at Bronn, who could only look back and give a small, defeated shrug.

“And I was telling Bronn that Brienne and I actually first met during, shall we say, a shift change. My apologies,” Ros continued, smiling at Brienne while putting a hand on her wrist. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable that day. Had I known you and Jaime were serious—”

“Not back then.” Brienne answered, briefly looking up to address her.

_Look at me, wench. Gods, can’t you see how much this pains me?_

But she didn’t.

“On to another topic,” Bronn announced. He was flushed, maybe from the wine or from what Ros had just said. He looked at Jaime. “Brienne says you had to pick up a delivery yourself?”

Ros suddenly giggled. “I’m sorry,” she sputtered. She smiled at Jaime. “I really thought Bronn brought me here for a threesome with Brienne. I kind of told her to think of me should something like it come up. When we first met, that’s what I told her.”

“It’s never happening,” Jaime snapped. The sharpness in his tone caused everyone to freeze and look at him. He stared at Brienne, her mouth open and a fork laden with steak ready to go in. Feeling that familiar twitch in his pants, he practically snarled, “I don’t share and neither does Brienne.”

Perhaps Bronn had given Ros a warning look. Or maybe Ros finally realized she was being fucking inappropriate. The silence went on until Brienne suddenly put her fork down and spoke up. “Does anyone. . .does anyone need salt?”

Jaime knew he should be insulted. But he didn’t have the right to feel that, having plunged them in this shit of a mess in the first place. He got to his feet. “I’ll get it.”

“No.” Brienne threw him a look. He stilled. Her blue eyes were icicles. _I’m done for._ “I’m doing it. You stay where you are.”

“Erm, pepper would be nice too.” Bronn said, looking at him then Brienne. He frowned at Jaime, mouthed, “What’s going on?”

“Maybe ketchup?”

Three pairs of eyes had looked at Ros, aghast. She seemed to sink in her seat. “Or not. Forget I said anything.” She forked off a sliver and ate. “Yum. It’s delicious.”

“You need help,” Jaime insisted to Brienne. He thought she rolled her eyes pointedly before going to the kitchen. He followed her. For once the perfection of the food and people wanting to tweak his creation didn’t rouse his temper. All he wanted was to get her alone. Explain himself. He didn’t know how but intended to. She was hurt. _Because of me. Because of what I really am._

Despite the lack of walls dividing the kitchen from the dining area, there was enough distance for him to attempt talking to Brienne privately. He hesitated, trying to gauge the degree of her temper from the brisk way she sorted through the spice rack. Her shoulders were stiff. She still wouldn’t look at him.

Suddenly she turned, holding the cannisters for salt and pepper. She almost walked right into him. “Jaime,” she whispered, her warm breath kissing his cool lips. He looked at her longingly, hands reaching up to take her by the shoulders when she tried passing him.

He finally saw how wretched she was—gone was the dagger stare, in its place a dull light and a strange paleness on her cheeks. Her disappointment and hurt were weapons of ultimate destruction. He wanted to bang his head on the wall.

“Brienne, please—"

Holding her more firmly, this time around the waist, he managed to pull her by the side of the fridge, out of sight of their guests. She continued to clutch the cannisters to her chest, preventing their bodies from touching any further.

“Say you’re not feeling well. Please. You have to listen to me. Let’s talk,” he pleaded softly. He stood on tiptoes and went for her mouth. He had no right to kiss her now, but this was how he best communicated. Through kisses. Touch. They made everything right.

He had expected resistance. A hiss. Instead he found softness. Pliant lips. He felt her shake in his arms before whispering, “We have guests.”

And just like that, she freed herself. He stared after her, his heart racing. He was shaking too. When she took her seat and didn’t look back at him, he had to force himself to move and return to the table.

The next hour and a half were the worst of Jaime’s life. Not even the beautifully-seared Dothraki steaks matched with the red wine sauce and Brienne’s inspired salad of kale, brussels sprouts, crunchy apples with salty cheese and nuts in a tangy, mustardy vinaigrette dressing made it easier. He glared at Bronn and Ros, envying the small, intimate smiles and looks they exchanged across the table. He stared woodenly at the salad in his plate, wanting to think that Brienne couldn’t be that upset because of the brussels sprouts. They were his favorite. He’d told her.

“Well,” Brienne pushed her chair back and looked at their guests. She looked past Jaime’s head to give the illusion of looking at him. “Who has room for dessert?”

He got up quickly. “I’ll take care of it.”

Then he was off to the kitchen before she could protest. A moment later, she said, “Does anyone want a coffee?”

While he got plates and forks, Brienne made coffee. He stared at her before going for the dessert in the fridge, thinking how if things had been okay, he’d use this time to steal a kiss from her full lips, nuzzle her neck. He would definitely fondle her between the legs, feeling her get wet while she blushed and gasped about getting caught. If she was amenable and he never had cause to doubt that, he’d drag her to the bedroom for a quick fuck. Then they would return to their guests, Jaime smiling hugely at her red face because her pussy was all swollen and soft, semen dripping wetting her thighs.

Instead, the three feet between them felt like an impossible distance. She took out a tray from the cupboard, putting on it cups and the plates and forks he had prepared. Then she left.

Jaime took a deep breath then opened the fridge. What he saw there almost made him cry again.

Chocolate cream pie.

Her favorite. His favorite. He swiped a fist across his eyes. Three months was not a long time, but it felt like another lifetime since they’d first kissed by the very counter he was now putting the pie on. He took in the fluffy, rich cream crowning the pastry, the chocolate shavings. It was just like the pie he had brought for her following Selwyn’s funeral. When he thought having her eat the best food could help her grief. Tasting her mouth and pussy had helped him, making him forget the pain of Selwyn’s death even for just too brief a time.

That had been the beginning. A brief dip into her mouth, her pussy, and life was never the same.

The coffee was soon ready so along with the pie, he also brought the pot to the table. Before he could get Brienne to help him, Bronn suddenly took over. “That looks so fucking beautiful, Brienne. Well done, this,” he said, taking the knife from Jaime’s fingers and proceeding to cut a piece. The pot, which he had placed close to Brienne, was picked up by her and she went to fill the three cups before putting it down.

As it became clear to Jaime at last she wasn’t interested in doing anything with him and for him, Ros took the pot and said, “Coffee, Jaime? Cream and sugar?”

He nodded, not really listening. He couldn’t take his eyes off Brienne as she smiled at something Bronn said, and then seemed to hesitate before nodding at something Ros remarked on. She was pink down to her neck. Hurt over her rejection, he still wanted to kiss her.

He was never going to stop wanting to kiss her.

The torture of Brienne’s pointed silence and avoidance lasted for just half an hour more, but it felt a lot longer. By the time they saw Bronn and Ros off the door, Jaime felt drained. He closed the door, turning to watch Brienne begin to clear the table.

“Brienne.”

He had spoken softly so maybe she hadn’t heard him. He continued watching her, approaching the table as she scraped the remains of food on a plate before stacking them one on top of the other. She sipped the wine that remained in her glass.

“Brienne.” He put a hand over hers, stopping her from picking up the next plate to scrape. Slowly, she looked at him.

He had been waiting for her to acknowledge the entire fucking night. By the gods, he even had a speech prepared. Or at least, he thought he had one. All he wanted was to apologize but from the way she looked at him, seeing that wobble in her chin that warned of tears, he realized it wasn’t going to be enough. _Sorry_ would have worked if he’d told her about Ros before she left the shop. _Sorry_ could have worked when she called him after going to the bank.

“Not now,” she said, resuming the task. “There are other things to do.”

“Please.”

“You know I don’t like waking up to dirty dishes to clean. Delays don’t make the tedious any more pleasant,” she replied, finishing then picking up the stack of dirty plates.

He sighed, pulling out a chair to sit on while listening to her load the dishwasher. Then she was back, picking up the wine glasses before heading back to the kitchen.

“If you want to be useful you can put away the leftovers and clean the table.”

He went to the kitchen to get food storage containers from the cupboard. He watched her wash the utensils and glasses, brush soapy sponge across pans. “Are we not going to talk? Don’t you want to hear my apology?”

“Will they speed up the cleaning?”

“Of course not. Brienne—”

“Not interested.”

He sighed loudly. This made her turn around and look at him in disbelief. “You don’t get to be upset with me, Jaime.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t be—”

“I didn’t have to be. But you could have done a better job during the meal instead of pushing around the food on your plate and barely participating. I _am_ upset. But I didn’t ruin the night.”

“So I did, then?”

She scoffed then turned away again. Jaime put the containers away, biting his lip. “I’m not good at this. I’m shit at a lot of things, Brienne. I fucked up tonight. I wasn’t happy with myself.”

He started walking to her, looking at the hairs on her nape, the way the shirt hung loose around her shoulders, the backs of her ears. He didn’t know if it was right to do but there were a few things he was good at. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around her waist.

Brienne sniffed and stopped what she was doing. He pressed his nose to her warm nape, kissed it. With her in his arms, he felt the most together. He could do anything. There was no fear.

He pressed himself against her, breathing more of her scent, holding her even tighter. His heart pounded fast, worried about her turning and pushing him away.

When she did turn to look at him, his breath froze. Always he could read her, the shades of blue in her eyes indicating her emotions. Not this time. He only knew she wasn’t pleased, she wasn’t understanding. But freckled fingers climbed to his jaw. He cradled it and kissed each finger reverently.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he whispered, standing slightly on tiptoe to press is forehead on hers. He thumbed her lower lip, smearing the lipstick there so it was a crimson slash on her blotchy skin. “It’s never happening again. I swear it.”

Then he claimed the sweet, succulent prize that was her mouth. He tasted lipstick, wine, chocolate. He pulled her lips between his teeth, playfully bit before kissing her, coaxing her lips to part to yield her tongue. She sighed, bending her neck to kiss him back. He worked on the buttons of her shirt, opening it far enough to take her naked pointy little tits in his hands.

“J-Jaime—”

Despite being stronger, weighing more, he managed to pull her away from the sink and towards the counter, spinning her easily until she was half-folded on it. It got to the point when his weight on her was too much so he tightened his hold around the back of her waist, gently guiding them toward the floor. Once there, he settled on top of her, licking down her neck to take one of her fat nipples.

She let out a strangled sound, grabbing him by she shoulder while bending her leg. He suckled wetly, noisily from her nipple, desperate for her fresh flavor to cleanse him of his mistakes and everything that had been so wrong with him. She pulled at his hair as he turned to take the next, cupping a breast before wrapping his mouth around the pink tip.

“Jaime—Jaime—”

Her whisper was a siren call and he moved, once again taking her full, warm mouth. She undulated against him, the juncture of her thighs warm and promisingly damp. Once again she pulled at his hair, and her teeth bit him as he began undoing her trousers. Her pussy was sticky. _Drenched._

He ripped away from her lips to bury his face in the sweet, dripping bounty between her thighs. He breathed in her musky, womanly scent harshly before scooping her hips off the floor to bury his tongue in her slit.

Strawberries and cream.

Sunlight.

She shrieked, jerking from the rapid thrusts of his tongue. He scooped every drop of her into his mouth, memorized the slippery satin texture of her pussy from the inside. Gods, she was summer and life on the tongue.

And she was shaking so much, her breathing a mix of tight strangled gasps and throaty cries. He hefted her thighs higher, farther apart until she was open, and her clit was a pink little pillar thrusting through the dirty-blond tangle.

He clamped his lips around it and slurped.

She let out a cry, but it wasn’t a joyous explosion of sound from her throat. As he suckled her clit and watched her, he saw her hands over her face. One slipped, revealing the tears on her cheeks, the snot dripping from her nose. Lips curled grotesquely over teeth as she sobbed.

“Stop,” she whimpered, trying to turn away. Her clit remained in the suctioning prison of his mouth. “Jaime, please. You have to stop.”

*******

Jaime had no idea how long he had been walking before sinking on a bench. Only when he’d stopped did everything hit him at once: he was close to frozen to the bone, having run out of the apartment without a coat or even a scarf, his clothes were damp and the snow he tasted from his lips and beard was like bitter, earthy slush.

He felt more than unwashed. The gods had given him life for mockery, scorn. Fashioned from disgust. Repulsion. Brienne deserved someone better.

_She is lost._

There was no worse feeling than that. His bones could rattle out of his skin until they crashed to the ground. Ice could take over his lungs, his heart. They were nothing to the pain of having lost Brienne. Seven above, she was gone.

He buried his head in his hands. Yesterday was the happiest he had been, enjoying the surprise on her face when he asked if she would marry him someday. He had memorized every twitch, every softening, how her eyes went from a silvery blue to a very vivid shade of raw sapphires, the slow smile on her face before saying yes. It felt like a dream. A most beautiful dream.

Jaime Lannister was a man of many things, and many of them weren’t good. The one thing he was good at, what he was really sure of—the one good thing he had, was Brienne. Loving her. Sleep was blissful for the first time in years, lulled by the whispery lullaby of her breath and the warmth of her body pressed to him. He looked forward to waking up, aiming to cover her body with as many kisses as possible before she stirred and moaned from his tongue in her pussy. He was a new man with her.

Freezing his cock off, wondering how to get warm and how to get home when he was without a wallet and clueless about where he was, he realized that loving her was not enough. It never slayed the voice within, reminding he was undeserving of a woman as good as her, that he was never going to be the man he wanted to be with her. He had been an utter fool, thinking love solved everything. It was a stopgap at best.

_Now she is lost._

Her sobs and the devastation that made her even uglier would haunt him the rest of his days, he was sure. She had looked so hurt, so broken—like a rag doll with her splayed legs and spread arms. She looked used with her open shirt and open legs, and Jaime had never been so disgusted, had hated himself so much, until he saw what he’d done. Terrified, he had run out, leaving her curled up on the floor and sobbing.

He raised his head from the tent of his hands, barely noticing the bus that had stopped in front of him and the passengers getting on and off. He felt as desolate and abandoned as the forgotten lands of eternal ice beyond Winterfell.

He hugged himself, keeping his head bowed from the curious looks some people had sent him. Others gave him a wide berth. The driver was yelling something at him until he stopped. He hated the cold. Not for how it got everywhere—under his sweater, through his pores. Cold meant alone. Not loneliness. _Alone._ Brienne had wiped away every memory of it. Now they came back like surges of endless tidal waves, each more devastating than the next. It seemed intent on sweeping his mind clear of any other memory besides being alone.

He raised the collar of his sweater. His breath was shallow wheezes that threw faint white puffs in the night before getting sucked back inside. The air descending his throat scraped like ground-up glass.

Soon, very soon, he would forget the warmth of her kisses, the light of her eyes. He would never come close to the pleasure and joy of hearing her laugh, smelling her on the pillow, on his hand. There will never be anything as glorious as fucking her.

Stop, she’d said. You have to stop. _I don’t want this._

He staggered to his feet just as another bus pulled up. People hurried down. He wasn’t going to get on—he just wanted to go somewhere warm.

“Jaime?” A shocked woman’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Gods. Is that you?”

 _Brienne._ He turned around, stunned she’d found him. A tired smile began to form on his face.

But it was not Brienne. Dark eyes looked at him with confusion and surprise. He hugged himself again, wishing he could just disappear. But it was too late.

“Fucking seven, what are you doing without even a sweater?” Ellaria demanded. With a cap over her dark hair, thick scarf wrapped around her neck, she had a gloved hand over her chest, clutching at the gap of her open coat. “What happened? Did you get robbed? I can call Brienne—"

Jaime shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak but the only sound that came was groan. Ellaria stepped back as he fell towards her, his arms quickly locking around her skinny shoulders. She was too small, too thin. Too much of everything Brienne wasn’t.

“Uh, Jaime?”

“It’s over,” he whispered. “She’s gone.”

*******

“You think they had a big fight? I’ve never seen anyone look like everything ended for him.”

“I don’t know. Brienne isn’t saying much. She just asked us to take care of him.”

A pause then a chuckle, a sigh. “So much for vanilla night.”

“We will never be vanilla.”

“Sounds just about right.” 

Jaime, hovering by the half-open door of the bedroom, turned away from the sound of Oberyn and Ellaria kissing. His presence had clearly ruined whatever plans they had, making him feel even worse.

The shower and clean clothes did little making him feel better, with the pajama bottoms ending high above the ankles and the crotch squeezing his balls. Surrounded by the unfamiliar, he felt further away from Brienne.

 _That should be us._ Many a night after dinner, they’d stayed in the kitchen long after the table was cleaned, and the dishes done. Wine was sipped from a single goblet, talking about nothing and everything. When they finally retired to the bedroom, he spent a good part of the night kissing Brienne, inside Brienne, swallowing her guttural moans and bathing in her sweat. More talk of nothing and everything followed, this time with her lips pressed on his cooking scars.

Hearing footsteps approach, he skidded towards the vanity, pretending to comb his hair damp hair when Oberyn peered in. He smiled at Jaime through the mirror. “Hey, there you are. Listen, we’re having fondue. Come on. Bread and hot cheese is exactly what you need during a snowstorm.”

Jaime lowered the comb and nodded, careful to avoid the somewhat prominent bulge between the other man’s thighs. Oberyn wore crimson, one-piece long johns. Very snug long johns. And fluffy slippers.

“Thanks for the clothes,” Jaime said, gesturing at the sweater and pajamas. “Uh, are you warm? You don’t need a robe?”

“No need for me. But help yourself if you need one. We’re in the kitchen trying to follow the recipe.”

Jaime followed him out of the room. Ellaria was in the kitchen, dressed in a long-sleeved tee and leggings. She was frowning at her phone. Bowls of shredded cheese, a bottle of wine, the fondue pot and some lemons surrounded her. His eyes lingered on the fondue pot.

“Hey, Jaime—“but her smile froze seeing what had caught his attention. An oblivious Oberyn pulled out a stool from under the counter then sat down.

Jaime had to put more effort dragging his gaze from the pot. “It’s alright. It’s a gift. You should use it.”

Oberyn snapped his fingers. “I remember! We were going to write you and Brienne a letter—”

He suddenly fell silent, realizing what he’d just said. He shrugged sheepishly while Ellaria began putting away the pot. “We can get takeout,” she declared, dark eyes big and panicked. She blushed prettily despite that. “I know just the place—’”

“No. Don’t,” Jaime said quietly, dropping on a stool next to Oberyn. He tried looking away from the pot but couldn’t, remembering. It had only been yesterday when Brienne spotted it at a shop window, but years seemed to have passed. They had a laugh-filled debate about whether to get the fondue pot or a knife set.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking at the couple. “I’m ruining your night. I should go—”

“No!” Oberyn and Ellaria’s protest nearly caused him to fall off the stool in surprise.

“Jaime, I called Brienne,” Ellaria said quickly. She sounded apologetic. “I had to.”

“It’s alright.” Not that Brienne would care. She had been right telling him to stop. Once again instead of dealing with a problem, he’d thought it better to distract himself with her body. And her too. Fucking was the best part of him. It made everything right. Or so he’d thought.

“I don’t have my phone. I don’t want her worried,” he added.

Because Oberyn and Ellaria remained silent, Jaime glanced at the ingredients on the counter. Seeing the three blocks of cheese and the bowls containing the grated bits, he stood up, “So, cheese fondue?”

“No, sit down,” Ellaria insisted as Oberyn poured wine for him. Jaime shook his head.

“I—I need to cook. It keeps me sane so if you’ll indulge me—it’s also the least I can do for ruining your night.”

“You are _not_ ,” Ellaria protested. “Oberyn , tell him?”

“It’s not problem at all.” But Oberyn’s too-warm reassurance was suspicious. Jaime got off the stool and walked around the counter. Ellaria frowned.

“Jaime—”

“I make a mean cheese fondue,” he said quietly.

Ellaria stared at him then glanced at Oberyn. Just as Jaime was about to offer again, Oberyn shrugged. “Alright. Why not? Thank you, Jaime. You don’t have to, and we appreciate it. Ellaria’s been on her feet all day. Come on, babe,” he patted the stool Jaime had just vacated. “Sit down.”

Ellaria still looked unsure but patted Jaime on the shoulder before joining her husband. “Thank you.”

Jaime quickly assessed the quality of the ingredients. The cheeses were no longer wrapped but based on the aroma, he determined they were good quality sharp cheddar, gruyere and emmental. Traditional cheeses although personally, he preferred a mix of hard and creamy cheeses. The resulting fondue was thicker.

There was also lemon, still smelling faintly of the Dornish sun, a bottle of kirsch and crisp white wine, garlic. He smashed and peeled one garlic glove to rub around the inside of the caquelon.

“Oh. So you don’t heat the pot first,” Ellaria remarked, making a note of it with her phone. “Do you put it in the mix?”

“No. Garlic is just for this,” he answered. “You want a subtle hint of garlic. Too much and you might just as well have garlic bread. Three cheeses can be too rich too, so the garlic helps with that. Don’t throw it away, though. You’ll need it for when you want to make sauce sometime during the week.”

After rubbing the garlic, Jaime heated up the pot then carefully poured the white wine into it. A gentle plume of heat brushed his face and he turned away to pour lemon juice next, followed by cornstarch. Then he began stirring the mixture.

“It’s a bit late for dinner, don’t you think?” he asked the couple. Nobody had said a word for the last ten minutes. No one seemed to be breathing too.

“I left work late to clear my schedule for the next few days,” Ellaria answered, smiling as Oberyn put an arm around her shoulders. “We’re off to a proper honeymoon.”

Lys and the sept. It was no effort remembering how soft and blue Brienne’s eyes had looked as she gazed at her friends reciting their vows. Jaime wondered if she would look at him like that again.

Ellaria and Oberyn exactly knew what he was thinking because they suddenly stiffened. Their dark eyes anxiously watched his every move, every telltale facial twitch that might give him away. He frowned at the mixture. “Wasn’t that Lys already?”

“Ah, but Lys was just the wedding and it was all rushed,” Oberyn explained. “Make no mistake, we enjoyed every minute of it. But we don’t want to just fuck during the honeymoon. We want to see the sites too.”

A honeymoon. It was a punch to the gut. Jaime’s fantasy was to lock himself and Brienne in a room for two weeks and fuck. The pleasure he got from kissing her, being inside her, even just smelling her, was unmatched. He liked listening to her breathe, and her snoring was sweet lullaby.

He would take her somewhere sunny so her skin would be blotchier. He thought a clear blue sky was the perfect backdrop of her sapphire eyes.

As he risked a glance at Oberyn and Ellaria, they exchanged a heated, loving look. Their lust was as glaring as searchlights in the dark but there the glimmer of affection too, the quirk in the lips that told of genuine enjoyment of each other’s company.

Thank goodness, he supposed, for fondue to distract him.

“Believe it or not, Oberyn and I could talk the rest of the night. Like, just talk and nothing else,” Ellaria told Jaime. “We talk about the silliest things.”

“Sometimes we try for relevant topics like politics,” Oberyn joked. “But we’d rather debate about the pronunciation of tomato.”

“My love, it’s tomah-to,” Ellaria drawled, patting him on the cheek.

“How pretentious,” Oberyn scoffed.

As Jaime emptied the bowls of grated cheese into the caquelon, Ellaria asked, “What do you and Brienne debate on?”

Jaime flushed. They didn’t really do anything like it. They talked a lot, he was sure of it. But if they weren’t discussing about the patisserie, or their childhood, or the wild, out-of-this-world desserts that would never see the light of day, he filled hear ears with filthy details about the things he’d like to do to her. Her begging him. It didn’t take long for those fantasies to come true.

Fucking made him feel good but fucking Brienne made him feel like somebody who mattered. A man with purpose. He rubbed his chest to ease the sudden tightness there, remembering how he’d mucked up things. Here he was complaining about Brienne having relegated him to a free stud service following the confrontation with Renly when he’d been worse. Much worse. Instead of trying to explain why he couldn’t tell her about Ros, he had resorted to fucking. Fucking was supposed to heal, not wound.

And he had done exactly that to Brienne. The one good thing in his wretched life.

“We’re not—” He sighed and repeated it. “We’re not really into conversation.”

“So, fucking then?” Ellaria asked.

Jaime bit his lip, saying nothing while the cheeses softened into the wine.

“Sorry if we’re prying about fucking,” Oberyn told him.

“It’s just sex. People should be more comfortable talking about it,” Ellaria added. “Oh gods, you’ve seen how red Brienne gets when talking about it, haven’t you?”

As she and Oberyn laughed and told about the many times Brienne nearly self-combusted from embarrassment, Jaime’s thoughts were on the color red. It wasn’t only sex that drew that color from her cheeks. _It’s_ _apple-red when I talk about fucking her. Strawberry-red when she’s asking me to do things to her. Watermelon-red when I annoy her about refusing to use vanilla extract instead of beans. Cherry-red. . .Scarlet. . .Crimson. . . Sometimes she’s pink, like candies._

As Jaime poured kirsch, Oberyn and Ellaria’s banter came to a merciful stop. Jaime was sprinkling pepper and nutmeg when Oberyn stood up. “Ah, I’ll just check on your clothes, Jaime. Should be all warm and fluffy now.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Uh, you need me to cut the bread?” Ellaria asked Jaime once they were alone.

Jaime wanted to groan out loud. Now he knew why Oberyn left all of a sudden.

“Just tear them into chunks,” he said, letting out a sigh.

Ellaria picked up one of the loaves and started breaking them into bite-sized pieces. The entire apartment was quiet save for the hushed tearing sound of the bread.

“I have no right to ask but this involves someone I love and care about,” she began, filling up the bowl with bread. “I’ve known Brienne long enough to tell you with certainty she’s never been this hurt until tonight. That entitles me to some rights, Jaime. What happened?”

“Fondue isn’t the way to make me talk,” he attempted to joke. A glance at Ellaria showed her displeasure. Flushing, he cleared his throat. “I fucked up.”

“Who did you fuck?”

Thinking she was joking at first, Jaime almost burst out laughing. But he risked another glance and saw she was serious about the question. He put the spoon down, surprised at his own calm.

“I didn’t fuck anyone.” Even his voice was too quiet to his own ears. “Why’s that the first thing you ask me?”

She crossed her arms. “I know things.”

“Things. About me?”

“It didn’t require a lot of work, if you ask me. I just looked for you online and I found things. You have quite the reputation.”

He didn’t have to be a genius to know exactly what Ellaria thought of him. Part of him was angry. A bigger part, one that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with, was hurt.

“But I saw how happy Brienne is with you, excepting tonight. And I saw for myself that you’re a decent guy. I wouldn’t have encouraged you if I wasn’t convinced, Jaime. Still you can’t blame me for asking if you’d cheated. Some people change.” She gave him a long look. “Some don’t.”

Jaime gripped the edges of the counter. Ellaria saw his white-knuckled hold and shrugged.

“Ellaria, I may fuck up no matter how hard I try but I don’t give a shit about what you think of me. I’ll never intentionally hurt Brienne. All that matters to me is Brienne’s opinion and if she still wants me around.”

“But you’re not with her now, are you? She told me you left.”

_Shit._

“It’s perfectly within my rights to throw you back out into storm if you’d hurt her. But I’m not heartless. I’d like to think I’m not. So unless you’re willing to be straight with me, there’s nothing I can do to help you. She’s chosen you. Again, I would still like to think you’re a good—”

“That’s the problem.” Suddenly weary again, Jaime switched off the flame of the fondue and sat down heavily on one of the chairs at the table. He buried his face in his hands, feeling weak and heavy. “I’m not.”

“Say, I just heard the storm’s coming in hard—” Oberyn said, returning to the kitchen. Because Jaime had his head in his hands, he didn’t see Ellaria shake her head at her husband. Oberyn backed away and went to the bedroom.

Jaime wanted to sink in the ground. To be burrowed deep with no hope of seeing the sun again. He didn’t know it could hurt this much hurting someone he loved. He was falling apart, bits and pieces of him slowly, torturously, splintering. He longed to be back with Brienne, to fall in her arms because that was where he was most complete. With her.

But he’d lost her.

He raised his head to look at Ellaria. “I’m not a good man. I did things, dishonorable things to get ahead in my career. I used women to ensure the patisserie survived. I thought the worst thing I’ve ever done was disappoint the one man who believed in me. Who, because of his kindness, changed my life in ways I never imagined—ways I don’t deserve. And how do I give him thanks?” Bitterly, he shot to his feet, kicking at the chair but barely nudging at it. _Pathetic._ He leaned against the counter. “I didn’t really hate myself. Not for a long time. I was Jaime Lannister. _Sugarslayer_.” He spat out the word. “Four years grand champion. But for what? I almost lost the shop. The man who was more of a father to me than the real one died. I hurt his daughter. I knew from the first moment I didn’t deserve Brienne. I wanted so much to forget who I used to be. I wanted to be the man she deserved—the person her father believed in. But I guess I fooled her too.”

Ellaria said nothing as he wearily got up and fired up the fondue pot again. She had finished tearing the bread into the chunks. He sprinkled more nutmeg, added a bit more kirsch. He hadn’t really tasted the dish to know it needed more. He just wanted something to do to be not so helpless and pathetic. So useless.

Nothing like the present to get used to it. If he thought being away from Brienne now was crippling, he couldn’t wait for the next few days when it became certain he was nothing without her.

“Does Brienne know?” Ellaria finally asked.

“She does. Yet she’s still chosen me.” Every memory of her choosing him hurt. “Yesterday I asked her to marry me.”

“What?” Ellaria squealed, doing a little skip. “Jaime, that’s—”

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut from the memory of Brienne’s surprised but happy gaze. “Don’t. I shouldn’t have.”

Slender brows furrowing in confusion, she watched him work for a while before asking, “Does she think the same?”

“I hurt her. I never intended to, but I still did.” He stirred the melted cheeses with frenzy, sending some sloshing on the counter, the floor. He let out a breath then shut the flame again.

“Did you hit her?” Ellaria suddenly demanded.

“No!”

“Steal?”

“No.”

“Fucked somebody?”

_“I said no, gods damn it.”_

“Smeared feces on her things?”

“What?”

“If you did none of those, what was so fucking terrible that you left her crying? You look like a fucking old man, Jaime. I’ve only been gone less than thirty-six hours and some serious shit went down with you. You know what, I don’t think I like you at all.”

“Huh?”

“Brienne deserves someone better. Someone who doesn’t bail at the first sign of trouble. So you didn’t mean to hurt her. Why are you here instead of fighting for her?”

Jaime was about to answer. He had it. A snarky reply. Yet as one second, then another, and more passed, his mouth simply remained open. Ellaria looked at him expectantly. “Jaime?”

He narrowed his eyes then clamped his jaw shut. She sighed. “I’m sorry I was harsh.”

He shook his head. “You had to be. Fuck, Ellaria, what must Brienne think of me. I shouldn’t have left.”

“Sit down,” Ellaria started prying him away from the counter. “You look like you’re going to faint. You’re too heavy for me and I think Oberyn will break his back trying to lift your ass off the floor. Sit down.”

Jaime let her bring him back to the stool. Grateful to be seated, he watched as Ellaria walked around the counter. She sniffed the cheese from the pot and smiled. “Hmm. This is promising, Jaime.”

He shrugged. She rolled her eyes. “So you made a huge mistake and right now, this I’m-so-sad-kill-me-now-vibe isn’t your usual sexy self. But now you know. The next thing you should do is call and apologize.”

“She’s not going to talk to me.”

“This is Brienne we’re talking about. Tough as nails but with the softest, biggest heart.”

He shook his head. He had hurt her. She shouldn’t be an easily forgiving woman. He didn’t deserve her.

“She never has grudges, believe it or not. Alright, so maybe she might not make your call since you’re still the asshole who left but as long as you’re sincere and you don’t ever pull this stunt again, she will forgive you. She loves you.” Ellaria patted his hand. “Believe it.”

He shrugged again. “We’ll see.” Ellaria had no idea he left lower than scum.

Ellaria grabbed one of the fondue forks and stabbed it into the bowl of bread chunks. She shoved it into the fondue next. “Will you look at that,” she marveled upon pulling it out. It was beautifully coated with the cheese mixture.

“It’s hot so be careful.”

“You know what they say about good things and they come to those who wait?”

“Yeah?”

“They’re idiots.” With that, Ellaria put the dripping bread in her mouth. Jaime looked at her. Despite how he felt, he still looked forward to the expression of bliss and pleasure sure to follow her first taste. Instead, she pursed her lips and chewed very, very carefully.

“Well, that’s. . .thanks.” She said, nodding at him. “It was nice of you to make this. Yeah.” Her smile was way too bright. “I made notes of how you did it so I should be able to replicate this.”

“Is it shitty?”

“No, of course not—”

Her voice trailed off as Jaime took her fork and stabbed a cube of bread. He swirled it in the fondue then put it in his mouth.

He lasted all of three seconds before spitting the _abomination_ into the sink. “Seven fucking hells!”

“It’s not that bad—” Ellaria tried to say but Oberyn, hearing Jaime’s shout, came running out of the room toward the kitchen. He saw Jaime gagging and running, shoving her out of the way to wash his tongue in the sink.

“What the fuck happened? Baby?”

“I have never—” Jaime gasped, spitting. “ _Never_ fucked up a recipe!”

He glanced at the fondue set again. This time he didn’t just gag.

He threw up.

Ellaria covered her mouth and nose in horror. Oberyn growled, _“Holy fuck, Jaime!”_

*******  
Snow and wind were so heavy it was memory rather than his eyes that told him the stairs to Brienne’s building was less than five feet away. He paid the cab driver double then got out of the car, shutting the door quickly to prevent any more snow from coming in.

The fluffy warmth of his clothes was almost gone. He wore the biggest, heaviest jacket Oberyn owned but it was too snug across the back and shoulders. The sleeves ended high above his wrists too. Snow was in his eyelashes and his beard, but it was the least of his problems. He checked the pocket for the spare keys Ellaria had given him, trying to find some assurance in the dents and thrusts of ice-cold steel.

He breathed into his palm, trying to make sure the mint of the toothpaste and mouthwash was still there. Then he staggered up the slippery steps. The streetlamp was on so there was power. Gripping the railing, he launched himself up every snow-choked, concrete step, worried about breaking his neck and never getting to tell Brienne how much he loved her. That if she could forgive him—  
  
He truly didn’t deserve her. How many times had she forgiven him? How could she take him as he was? He stared at the heavy double doors of the apartment, hampered not by snowstorm that could freeze him on the spot but the real fear of things being different in the worst way. How many promises had he broken? How could he hurt her as he had?

What he deserved was to freeze to death. Ellaria was right. Brienne deserved someone who would fight for her. Someone brave and noble. Honorable. He chuckled bitterly, the howling wind swallowing the sound. He had shit for honor. He was shit for so many reasons and really, the right thing was to just end things and let Brienne have the chance to have a better choice. Be with someone untarnished and wouldn’t fall to pieces. She didn’t deserve a broken man.

The problem was his heart. He had not only given it away. He was never getting it back. He didn’t have to be away from her and try to live to know there was no one else he wanted. Down to his soul and maybe even inscribed in the elusive truths of the world of which the human mind could grasp so little, he knew he was never going to love anyone this much. It was a love he was only capable of with her.

He unlocked the front door, diving into the sudden warmth of the space before shutting the storm outside. The leap in temperature caused his vision to shit a little but he made it to the second set of stairs, hurrying up the steps and making the turn to her apartment. He unlocked it and stepped inside, cringing from the loud squeak that gave him away when it opened.

Through the faint light in the hallway behind him, he saw Brienne on the green armchair. Her hair lay over her red, blotchy face. She was still wearing the striped shirt, clutched tightly to her chest now as well as a blanket. Her socked feet peeked from under it. Hearing him enter, she turned, giving him a blank gaze.

He didn’t know how long they stared at each other, with only that faint light revealing portions of her. He saw enough of her pain to hate himself even more.

The first time he had laid eyes on her, her swollen eyes and the quiet strength she exuded with every person that came to pay their respects had been moving to see. Her sapphire eyes had mirrored such hurt that he had never been able to forget.

She wore the same despondence now.

“Close the door, Jaime.”

She spoke so softly he barely heard her. He closed the door then walked a few steps to flick on the lamp. She flinched from the sudden glare, swiftly turning away to look at the storm lashing outside the window. He went to switch on another, the one closer to her.

Then he knelt before her. Pressed his face on her knees.

“You left.”

“I did.”

He slowly raised his head and found her still looking out the window. She had been crying. There was a splatter of droplets under her eyes. He hugged her legs, desperate to be closer to her, to sink in her warmth. But she felt so far away.

“There is no excuse for what I’ve done. Still. . .if you can give me just this one chance. Even when I don’t deserve it. . .”

That drew her eyes sharply to him. Red-rimmed sapphires cloudy from tears stared at him. Her sigh was long and sounded tired.

“That’s the thing, Jaime. Why do you always think you don’t deserve anything? Why do think so little of yourself?” She brushed a big fist across her eyes. Her face crumpled as tears fell down. “How do you still not know? What more should _I_ do so _you’ll_ know?”

Then she sobbed. Giant, heaving waves of tears and gasps that drew shaky breaths and hard tremors of shoulders. He quickly rose to take her in his arms, perching on the plump arm of the chair. His clothes were cold and wet, but she didn’t flinch or push him away. She kept her face pressed to his chest, her tears and spit spilling from her sobbing lips and wetting the coat. He kissed her on the forehead, rocked her—she was too big and shaking so much—but did it anyway. Freckled fingers clutched at him.

“You’ve done so much. I’ve never—“he kissed her hair again, tightening his hold. “I haven’t done enough. I still can’t forgive myself for the choices I made. I just wanted to be the kind of man you deserved. The best man. I thought—I thought—"

Fuck. Now he was crying too. He breathed deeply a few times before attempting to speak again.

“When I heard of Ros. . .I couldn’t. . .I couldn’t face it. It was my old life coming for us again. I don’t want to go back there, Brienne. You take me out of the darkness. You’re everything and the only one that’s good in my life.”

He felt her go still after a few breaths. He pushed hair from her face as she looked up at him, looking so sad yet achingly perfect with the sapphire searchlights that was her eyes. Eyes that always saw through him and everything.

“Don’t. . .I can’t. . .no.”

He knew this was coming but refused to believe it. “What?”

“I shouldn’t be everything, Jaime.”

“But I love you. You’re the only one I want. The only person I love.”

“It doesn’t mean I’m everything. Jaime, I love you. But I can’t be all that’s good in your life, do you understand?”

“But you are,” he insisted, confused.

“No. Jaime, you can’t—you can expect trust, love, loyalty from me but not everything. I shouldn’t make you feel complete. I’m not a missing piece—your half or that crucial piece in the puzzle of you, the one thing that makes you right. Don’t make me into that person. Love me,” she touched his face, her warmth melting some of the snow from his cheeks. He turned to her hand, pressing his cool lips on her palm. “But know I’m not everything.”

He nodded, understanding every word she said but not exactly what she meant. She returned in his arms. It felt good to have her leaning on him. He tried rocking her again, to ease the soft sobs and sniffles escaping her body.

“I just love you so much,” he admitted. “Need. . .want you. I want to be with you all the time. All the time, Brienne. Inside you. Everything makes sense when I’m with you like that. I know I’m not. . .hateful.”

“Never hateful,” she said, nuzzling his chest. “Not even close. But you can’t. . .you can’t. . .”

“What?” He tugged at her hair gently to get her to look at him.

“I don’t want you to stop fucking me. But you can’t always resort to fucking to make everything right.”

He nodded, feeling ashamed for what he’d done earlier. This time he fell in her arms. The armchair squeaked and whined from the continuing pressure of their combined weight. He filled his nose with the fresh, vital scent of her.

“I don’t know how you can’t be everything,” he whispered. “I love you—how can you not be everything?”

“Your talent? Your friends?” When he looked up to scoff his only friend was Bronn and Blackfish, he saw her smiling. “Your dedication, your gods-honed chiseled jaw. The fact that you’ve never given up. I need to know you’re fine by yourself, you know what I mean?”

“I’ll need a crash course.” He hung his head and she kissed him. He quivered as she licked some of the snow from his lips. “Brienne, I _am_ sorry. It’s no excuse that I’m still struggling with my past. . .affairs,” he said, wincing from the word and the memories they conjured up. “I should have been braver telling you about Ros. You should have been prepared. I was wrong to leave you like that.” 

She looked at him, nibbling her full lip. “Forgiven,” she whispered.

He kissed her hand again. He refused to let go.

“I didn’t say anything about her because I really didn’t expect her and Bronn to be a thing. Don’t worry. I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t see a lot of her while they’re together.”

His lips trailed down her thick wrist, brushed the bluish veins scrawled under the freckled skin. He got another whiff of her scent.

“What if it’s real between them?”

He snorted. “You can’t be serious.”

“You and I were only supposed to fuck.” He smiled as a rich, watermelon shade flooded her cheeks. “Look where we are.”

“We’re different.” He insisted.

“Bronn is your best friend.” She could be just as stubborn. “Ros seems nice. The past is already written, Jaime. If she sticks around. . .we’ll be seeing a lot of her. ”

“I don’t know if _I_ can.” It was true—Ros was okay in his book although he didn’t think much of her. But she reminded him of many things he’d rather forget.

“Could you try talking to Bronn about how you feel? But we really do have to find a way to respect his choice without disregarding your feelings.” She watched press his face on her hand. “You can’t fuck your way out of this one. Nor run off.”

“Hey,” he said after a moment, turning back to her. “You made a joke.”

He touched her face then, and once again drew her clear, guileless eyes toward him. He could have lost her for good after tonight. No more sapphires. Freckles. Blotchy neck. Someone to hold him. Someone who saw him for what he was and the person he could be.

“We, you said, wench?” He asked very softly.

She nodded.

He pulled her back in his arms.

“Jaime?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t walk out on me again.” She raised her head and searched his face. There was still the shadow of hurt in her eyes. “Promise me you’ll stay and talk to me instead of running. You didn’t just hurt me. You scared me.”

Right on cue, one of the windows in the living room suddenly flew open. Brienne gasped from the sudden icy gust blowing into the room. Jaime got up to shut the window, latching it firmly. It was too dark to see outside, wind and snow having obscured the streetlamps.

When he turned back, Brienne was on her feet too, the blanket wrapped like a cape around her wide shoulders. She looked strong yet forlorn too. He practically ran to her, slamming his knee on the edge of the coffee table. He growled through the pain as he pulled her in his arms, holding her fiercely.

“I could have lost you,” he mumbled against her warm shoulder.

“Jaime,” she hugged him back, her hold harder and more likely to crush him. He sighed and sank deeper in her embrace. The blanket slid to the floor.

He felt the flutter of her fingers first on his shoulder then towards his cheek. A thumb grazed his jaw, gently nudging him away from her shoulder before urging him by touch to look up at her. He got a brief look of pale hair falling across sapphire eyes before her summery breath bathed his face.

She kissed so softly, plumbing his lips as if tasting him for the first time, almost shy like the Maiden’s. The heat of her kisses seeped into the entirety of him, plunging him in a fever that promised sweet delirium. He held her around the waist as she cupped his face.

Encouraged, he went to kiss down her neck, smiling against her flushed skin as the snow on his beard made her gasp. Ever so slowly he moved down her body, plying her clavicles with kisses while opening the ruined striped shirt. Lower, and he took her tits in his mouth. She whimpered from the heat of his tongue and snow melting on her skin.

Kneeling now, he cradled her wide hips while brushing his lips on her flat stomach. She was trembling, moaning in that soft sound that was both shy and lewd while pulling at his hair, his shoulders. They looked at each other as he pulled the boxers she was wearing. She was no marble figure in the soft light from the lamps, but flushed skin and every inch woman and so fucking divine. He was never going to forget the shirt half-down her arms, the pointy red nipples on plump little tits, the flare of her hips and her pussy—groaning, he buried his mouth in it.

She grunted and swayed from his kisses and slurps, gasping that she was cold but liked it, his mouth, on her. Residual slickness filmed the inner lips of her pussy and he licked them clean, savoring the burst of sun and spring on tongue. He draped one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her wider for kisses. He groaned from the fresh and _Brienne-ness_ of her scent enveloping him. He rubbed his face on the thick, sticky hairs, nudging her labia open for the treasure that was her clitoris.

“I—Jaime, I’m going to fall—” She gasped as he pulled the plump pillar of flesh between his lips. Her hard thighs came dangerously close to breaking his neck.

“Sit,” he rasped, shoving her back on the green armchair. She fell with a thud and a gasp and he was on to her quickly, spreading her legs wide and resting them on the plump arms of the chair. He took a moment to drink in the sight of her—filmy blue eyes, the spread legs that should be obscene but instead sensual, her glistening pussy. He dragged her hips to the edge of the chair and resumed his feast.

She sobbed and shrieked through the sure thrusts of his tongue in her pussy, his loud, smacking kisses on her soft folds. He was dizzy from his own arousal, his cock and balls aching so much he struggled for breath. As he drank every drop off her, he yanked at his belt, zipper. He groaned from the heaven of his mouth full of _wench_ as his hand tugged and rubbed his cock.

_“Oh, gods. . .”_

She thrust up suddenly, groaning and shaking even more while his lips remained firmly around her clit. He opened his mouth for the burst of her orgasm, intent of taking it all. She came with his mouth latched around her.

As he drank her pussy dry, he spilled on his hand. On the rug.

He must have passed out for a few moments. The next thing he knew, his head was between Brienne’s thighs, her pubic hairs tickling his nose. His thighs were still slick from semen. Gentle fingers ruffled his hair and he leaned into her touch, looking up at her.

She had that sleepy, blissed-out expression that almost made her beautiful. Smiling, he kissed her gently right on the slit before pushing himself back on his feet. He saw her blush and lick her lips as his cock bobbed next to her cheek.

He was about to continue getting rid of the jeans still puddled at his ankles when Brienne leaned toward him. Her soft gaze snared him before she pulled his cock to her mouth.

 _“Brienne.”_ Her tongue. _What_ was he without it? Slow, careful licks went up and down his cock, then her hand. _Who_ was he without her touch?

Watching her messy blond head gently bob up and down, listening to her cute, wet little licks and kisses, he remembered what she said about not being his everything. It was impossible to fathom himself without her, he thought, head falling back a little when she sucked on one of his balls. As she nudged his cock out of the way to mash her mouth some more on his balls, he clutched at her hair, her shoulder. She was his anchor. He was unmoored without her.

With a plop, Brienne freed his balls. Jaime pushed her hair from her flushed face, pleased to see her lips looking bigger from sucking him. “What is it?”

“I want to be a good man.” It was his most ardent wish. “I don’t know how. . .on my own. Without you,” he admitted. “You make me want to be better than I think I’m capable of.”

As he spoke, she sat him on the armchair. He watched her shrug off the shirt. “Don’t.”

Brienne froze for a moment then nodded, pulling it back up. He welcomed the eager twitch of his cock as he sighted the apple blush on her cheeks.

“I didn’t say without me.” She chided gently, pressing her knee against his leg. “I meant by yourself. That you’re not defined by me or by our relationship. And you _are_ a good man.”

“Someday,” he said, taking her hand. “I’ll believe that.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Jaime. I want to make sure too.”

She bent to kiss him. He sighed, thinking how perfect he tasted on her tongue. He squeezed one of her tits before palming her pussy. _She’s warm._ “Are you still wet?”

Her apple cheeks got redder as she nodded.

“Wet enough?” He dragged her hand to his cock to show what he meant. What he wanted. _Now._

She gulped at the swollen, red-purple erection and looked back at him. Then she swung one leg over his thighs. He stopped her from sinking on his cock with a hand on her thigh, glancing at her before spreading her pussy open with the other hand.

He spat in her. Relished the sight of her spread pussy lips gleaming with his saliva.

She stole his breath holding his cock as she lowered herself on it. Her coo was more air than voice as she strained to take him, pumping up and down gingerly before engulfing him completely. He groaned against her throat. She was soft. Slippery. He scooped her in his arms, kissing her shoulder. He just wanted to feel her. Hold her.

“Steady,” he whispered hoarsely, stopping her from rocking back into the furious pace they loved. She looked confused for a moment then nodded, dropping her forehead on his. They quivered fighting the instinct to _move_ , to _fuck_. Sweat exploded from their pores as they kissed. It was another round of slow, searching kisses, matched with her hand on his chest, his wrapped around her tit. He plucked gently at her nipple and she moaned against his tongue. He looked in her eyes through their whisper-soft kisses, the almost shy thrusts of tongues.

At some point, the gentle rolls of her hips became wriggles, then sure, desperate pumps. He almost laughed out loud at her insistence, but was too intoxicated from everything—her scent, her feel, taste, _her_. They moved carefully, dragging out every motion. The slow pace bordered on torturous if not for kisses that were tamed fire instead of wildfire. Then he latched firmly on one of her nipples, sucking hungrily yet drowning further in the layers of her flavor, textures.

As the snowstorm raged outside, they moved to the floor. Somehow, in between more kisses, he managed to get rid of his clothes except for one shoe. Her tongue bathed him from chest to toe then back, and he met her big mouth with a kiss of more apology and promise.

She climbed on top of him as soon as he was hard again, riding his cock like a warrior charging toward enemy lines. She was _magnificent_ —neck arched, tits thrust high in the air and jiggling, shirt hanging down her arms. She held his hands to her tits, and he would have kept them on her longer if not for the draw of her pussy once again.

He pushed her on her back then sank his tongue in her pussy. He filled his mouth with the brine of their fucking. It wasn’t enough. He had her sit on his face to get more.

To _drown_ , to be _engulfed_ in _her_ —his tongue was relentless and her tight little moans for mercy spurred him further. She turned the tables on him by sucking on his cock, her mouth pulling it so hard he growled, stirring her pubic hairs.

She was practically dead on her feet when he dragged her to the bedroom, swaying and yawning as he pushed the shirt off her at last. He didn’t trust himself to remain awake for much longer, but he was painfully hard again. In bed she tiredly spread her legs, whimpering as he thrust fully and deeply in her without preamble. He came a thrust and a half later, falling in her arms with a cry that drowned out the howl of winter’s wrath outside the window.

*******

Brienne woke up with a gasp.

For a moment, she panicked upon seeing the empty side of the bed. Her heart was a frantic, almost painful hammering in her chest. Then she moved her legs, soreness suddenly radiating from her cunt. She battled for calm, fighting every thought that she was still in a nightmare with memories of Jaime’s kisses, his tongue a slick, determined marauder for the stiff pearl between her folds, his pained confession.

As her heart slowed to its normal flutter, she felt something stuck on her forehead, then paper rustling her eyelashes. Frowning, she plucked it off her face.

 _Kitchen_ , was all Jaime had written. Below it was the drawing of an erect cock.

Despite all she’d cautioned him about using sex to solve their problems, she raced out of the bedroom. She needed to know he was here. That last night had been no dream. The cold bit at her tender nipples, causing her to cry out.

Jaime was seated at the counter, golden and tousled in the dark gray morning. He now wore the striped shirt. Flour and sugar dusted his hands. She sniffed. The air was warm and fragrant from pastries. He looked up from squeezing the contents of a pastry bag into an elongated pastry shell. 

One look. That was all it took. One look and then Jaime was rushing to her, spinning her until he could flatten her against the door of the fridge. Then his tongue was in her mouth, warm and tasting of sugar. She threw her arms around him as he hooked her leg over an elbow. They pushed his boxers to the floor.

Then he was inside her. Hard. Thrusting. Furious. She bit on his shoulder, cunt-sore, muscle-weary but needing him so much this way.

It was a rough fuck that was the exact opposite of last night, yet Brienne gasped encouragement. Jaime spilled all too soon but replaced his cock with fingers that shoved her into the hottest climax of her life. She groaned, squeezing tightly around his hand, riding his fingers deliciously roughened by sugar crystals.

Her legs were useless in the aftermath. He helped her on one of the stools when she suddenly whined.

“What?” He demanded, worried over her grimace.

“I’m sore,” she gasped. “I’m so tender—I need—” she nodded in the direction of the sofa. He quickly picked her up, grunting from her weight as he did. He staggered to the living room, barely managing to put her gently on the sofa. As the soft cushions cradled her sore body, he threw the blanket left on the green armchair over her.

“Better?” He asked, sweeping hair from her eyes.

Brienne was about to nod when her face burned. “I’m sorry but I need to pee.”

She planned to make a run for it, but he surprised her by sweeping her up in his arms again. She struggled against laughing, worried she’d pee all over him then the floor. He chuckled through her shuddery breaths against his neck during the short walk back to the bedroom. She left him with the blanket and sat on the toilet. As pee streamed out of her, she moaned in relief.

“Should I be worried you make that exact sound when I’m fucking you?” Jaime drawled, grinning at her from the doorway. A shoulder was propped against it.

A ripe tomato color exploded all over her face, yet she continued to pee. “Close the door.”

“Hells no.”

Her laugh caused her to pee even more. He chuckled too. “Do you intend to flood the bathroom, wench?” He asked as more poured out.

“Shut up.”

When she finished, she turned to take some toilet paper. “Are you going to watch me wipe too?”

“I want to know exactly what I’ll lose the next time I’m tempted to run off again.”

It should be funny. It was a remark meant to be followed by fond looks. She was glad that Jaime had come back but the pain of his abandonment, though lasting only hours, was still fresh. He’d left her crying on the floor, feeling used and useless.

She dabbed herself dry, then stood up to drop the tissue in the little wastebasket. She didn’t have to look at Jaime to see him staring at the dried tracks of semen around her thighs, their skin still red from the burn of his beard. When she finally looked at him, it was to discover his eyes on her face.

“I thought you were still gone,” she confessed. “When I woke up.”

It had been the worst hours of her life, sobbing on the kitchen floor. Hating Jaime for leaving her yet knowing she was still going to forgive him. Ellaria’s call had erased her worry when she saw later he’d left without his phone and wallet, but she still hoped he returned sooner rather than later. Perhaps she was a masochist.

But for as long as she loved Jaime, she was going to fight for them. She just hoped someday he did the same. 

Jaime looked ashamed. “I’ll never stop hating myself for what I did.”

“No, that’s not what I want.” She threw her arms around him, sighing when he embraced her back. She kissed him behind the ear, on the temple. “I’m just as scared of finding myself without you. I’m not going to be strong at all.”

He was holding her too tightly around the waist, but she couldn’t complain. Today could have been day one of that hell. “I didn’t know it could make me afraid too, Jaime.”

“What? What do you mean?”

She reluctantly stepped away from his embrace. He draped the blanket over her. He looked tired, his face lined there was a diminished brightness in his eyes.

“Loving you,” she said. “It makes me a bit braver the longer I’m with you, but also afraid. I trust you completely. I don’t know if you’ll reciprocate the same degree, but I love you enough to have faith. I won’t believe in you like that if I didn’t love you, you see?”

He took her hands and kissed the knuckles. “I don’t want you losing faith in me, Brienne. I’ll make sure.” He looked in her eyes. “I want to be a better man. I wish to be braver.”

Despite the heaviness of their discussion, she managed to smile. “We have our work cut out for us, it seems.”

“We really do,” he agreed, sighing. He pulled her by hand out of the bathroom then seated her at the foot of the bed. He sat next to her. “Which is why I’ve been thinking. . .”

“About what?”

He suddenly scrubbed a palm on his face, pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think. . .I think I need to talk to someone about. . .what’s happening. A professional.” He looked embarrassed. “I think I should go to therapy.”

She saw the admission take a lot out of him. Help was hardly in Jaime’s vocabulary and he was still burned how he’d gone about it for years. She kissed him on the cheek. “I think that’s good idea.”

“Do you think so? You’re not. . .wouldn’t you rather I just talk to you?”

“Let’s keep talking,” she clarified. “But it can’t hurt to have someone else to talk to.”

“I agree,” he admitted, sounding sheepish. “At least if I’m seated across some bald guy with horn-rimmed glasses I won’t be tempted to fuck him.”

She laughed and kissed him again. He put an arm around her shoulders. “Also. . .Brienne, I’m not taking it back. I still want to. But do you think we can. . .do you think we can hold off any discussion of permanent arrangements in the future? Just for now?”

“What are you talking about?”

Now he was unsure. She even saw fear in his eyes. “I asked you to marry me. You said someday.”

“And I mean it.”

“What if someday is. . .what if it takes a while? A year? Or two?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Jaime. I’m not with you because we’re getting married. I’m with you because I love you.”

He still looked worried, so she put a hand on his cheek. “Look at me.”

He did, letting out a grunt of frustration. “I’m a fucking mess.”

“It’s part of why I love you,” she reassured him. This man. Complicated. Difficult. Haunted. He had seen pain she could only imagine, fallen into depths she was too scared to even try thinking about. He was all that her heart urged to love.

“I want you to take things with us day by day, if that’s the best way. Just. . .” Her voice threatened to crack. “Just love me, Jaime.” She let out a shaky laugh. She was not asking for the moon, but hoped he chose her no matter what. Everyday. “Love me, that’s all.”

He kissed her quivering lips. “You never have to ask, wench. I love you. I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.”

She gulped, nodding quickly as her eyes began to water. She laughed again, but also sobbed. He embraced her and she fell toward him in relief.

“What about staying with me?” She asked, blinking at him. He brushed her tears away with a thumb. “Would you like that? Living with me? Or does it fall under permanent arrangements too?”

“Now what are you saying wench?” But his smile was knowing.

“What do you say to moving in together? Not now but maybe in a few months—”

“I can box up all my copper pans and pots, my knives, and bring the rest of my clothes here as soon as the storm clears.”

She had not expected this response. “Oh. But you’re sure? Living here? With me?”

“I don’t care where we live, wench. I just want to be with you.”

“But don’t you think we could find an apartment that’s more _ours_ maybe—”

He shook his head firmly. “No. I like it here.”

“Your place is closer to the patisserie. Jaime, you love your kitchen.”

“Yes, yes. But there will always be other kitchens. I want a fresh start. I want that only with you.” Then he looked worried again. “Am I too fast?”

She shook her head. Heart swelling with another surge of love, she kissed him again. He took her face in both hands, kissing her for a few seconds before saying, “Have you changed beds since you fucked Renly last or is this new?” He patted the mattress.

She made a face. “You didn’t just say that.”

“Fresh start,” he said in singsong voice. Turning a little serious, he continued, “I want a bed where I’m the only man who’s fucked you.”

“As soon as the storm is over, we’re getting a new bed,” she agreed. She was about to kiss him again when her eyes saw the time on the clock. “Oh no. Jaime, we have to call the staff. Tell them not to come to work.”

“Done. I called Jon and asked him to disseminate first thing. Are you hungry? I have breakfast.”

“I smelled it,” she replied, looking past his shoulder. “What did you make?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. Maybe you’ll help me come up with a name?” He nuzzled her nose. “Stay here. I’ll bring it to you. The bed has to be better for your ass than the sofa.”

She blushed as he pulled the blanket from her. “You just want to keep me naked.”

“Of course. I can’t fuck you yet, unfortunately.” He stroked his cock through the boxers, grimacing. “I’m a little chafed. You were giving me hand jobs in your sleep.”

Her neck burned. “Was not.”

He chuckled. “ _Fucking yes_. It’s one hell of a talent, wench.” Then he kissed her on the forehead. “Stay,” he whispered, green eyes shining despite the shadows underneath. “Let me take care of you this time.”

Brienne snuggled under the sheets, piled all the pillows against the headboard before leaning against them. She breathed, loving their combined scents and the fragrant aroma of Jaime’s latest concoction drifting from the kitchen.

He returned with a tray piled with pastries and coffee. Watching him carefully lower it on the bed, she glanced at the shirt he’d stolen from here.

“Green is a good color on you. It goes well with your eyes.”

He looked up and winked. “Thanks. How much do you love it, by the way? I wouldn’t mind if you want to give it to me.”

Getting the cup of coffee he held out to her, she said softly, “It’s yours if you want. You do look great in it.”

He sat across from her, sipping his coffee. “It’s roomy even on you, though. Did you buy it without trying it on?”

She shook her head. “It was Dad’s.”

“Oh. Ah, forget I asked about you giving it to me. I’m sorry, wench.”

“No. We can share it. I don’t mind.”

He smiled. “Thanks. It _is_ a great shirt. Now, can I interest you to breakfast?”

She grinned back. “Of course.”

With flourish, he presented her a plate of the elongated pastry shells she’d seen earlier, now stuffed with what looked to be thick cream and chocolate chips. Her mouth watered and she plucked a piece off the plate but he shook his head playfully at her.

“Jaime, I’m actually hungry. Can’t I eat while you describe it to me?” She complained.

“I would but I thought to warn you first that the cream has ricotta cheese. I know how you are about leaving cheese as cheese and not mixing it with anything else.” As she made a face, he picked up the pastry and held it to her mouth. “I swear you’ll like this.”

When she continued to scowl, he sighed. “Please, just try?”

She was never able to resist whenever he looked at her with that pleading, puppy dog expression. She rolled her eyes and opened her mouth. He nodded. “That’s the wench I know and love.”

As usual, he jammed half the pastry in her mouth. She had to chew and swallow quite quickly, grabbing his hand to stop him from stuffing the rest in her lest she choke. She took her time, concentrating on the texture of the pastry shell, the thickness of the cream and the subtle sweetness of the chocolate chips. She had been expecting some sharpness of flavor due to the presence of cheese but remembered it was ricotta. As she swallowed, she glanced at Jaime. He was anxious, one hand still up and holding the rest of the pastry, the cream plopping on his thigh unnoticed.

Blushing, she swiped a finger around the dollop and licked it off. It snapped him out of a trance. He blinked then demanded, “Well?”

She cocked an eyebrow and grabbed his hand to devour the rest of the pastry.

“I suppose you hate it,” he remarked, watching her take the second pastry and bite hugely into it.

“Hmm,” was all she could say. “Do you have more? Of course you do.”

“Always,” he said, smirking. “So. You like it.”

It was sweet how he still craved her explicit approval. Finishing the second pastry, she daintily wiped the corners of her mouth and leaned toward him. “You do know how to blow my mind with desserts.”

“Ah.”

“I think you have another masterpiece, Jaime.” She told him sincerely. “You _are_ a genius. And don’t you forget.”

He kissed her gently, tongue tasting her lips. Then he sat back, licking his lips. He grinned at her flushed cheeks. “Thank you.”

“So,” she said, sipping more coffee. “Are there more?”

He laughed. “Yes. Wait here.”

She could kiss him when he returned promptly, the plate piled with more ricotta-and-chocolate-chip-stuffed pastries. As she happily took one and began to eat, Jaime sat by her feet. He watched her chew and swallow, his eyes warming from the cream that covered her chin. Through the blanket, he ran a finger up and down her leg.

Heart racing, she breathed, “Yes?”

Dimples flashed then he leaned toward her, filling her ear with a whispered desire that sent her blushing to the very tips of her toes. He took the rest of her pastry from her fingers and chewed while watching her. She squirmed under the blanket. He had to have turned the thermostat way up since she was sweating. Licking his fingers clean, he took the plate and held it out to her.

“Have some more, wench.” The heat in his gaze was unmistakable.

“Oh, you don’t need to tell me,” she said, though her fingers were shaking as she took another pastry. “This is absolutely heaven.”

“Are you sure it’s only that, wench?”

She looked at him, thinking of what he’d just whispered to her. He nodded gently, shooting her a warm but suggestive smile. _Holy Seven._ Her cunt was wet.

Suddenly, she leaned toward him. She whispered quickly in his ear then sat back. He looked surprised then amused. “Alright.”

Then he shot off the bed and ran out. She quickly discarded the blanket and got comfortable. “Don’t take too long, please,” she called after him.

Within a minute, Jaime was back. Brienne grinned, licking her lips at the sight of his beard crusted with ice scraped from the freezer. “Icy enough for you, wench?”

In response, she guided the pastry to her mouth, drawing his eyes there. She nibbled it, and also smeared cream around her mouth.

Then she spread her legs.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought this time I’ll do it right,” he explained, not hiding his pleasure at her carnation-pink cheeks and trembling smile. Her heart thudded a hundred beats a second, or more. Faster. He took the toy from her, glancing at the ring before looking up at her again. “You shot me down the first time.”  
> The memory drew a very bright tomato blush from her cheeks. “Jaime, you were inside me when you asked me.”  
> “You say yes plenty of times when I’m in you like that. Was it because my cock was in your ass?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Sorry for taking forever to update. Being at home has made me busier, on top of studying for an exam--who knows when that will be! But making the time is hard. I'm not complaining but I wanted to assure those who are still reading this that this story has not been forgotten and will be finished.
> 
> A shoutout to my best best bestest catherineflowers! Without fail, she encourages, picks me up and dusts me off, and has infinite patience with my questions about anything and everything. She's my rock and, cannot be said enough, my bestie best bestest! Love her to pieces!
> 
> She's also suggested that I start using my Twitter to post updates on my story. I use it often enough to dream about buffets I'll be slaying should lockdowns be ever lifted. Interactions with you might encourage me to try being smart! Find me at @CapnTarthister. It's my only other social media account besides Tumblr. I'm not anywhere else.

Climbing the stairs was the equivalent of having to scale The Wall at the end of another long, tiring day. Brienne moved her head from side to side, rotated her shoulders during the walk in the hallway towards the apartment. Before unlocking the door, she pressed her ear on it, listening. Then she smiled.

Sitting on the sofa bouncing a plump, squealing baby on her lap was Donyse, the grandmotherly and friendly nanny highly recommended by the playground parents of the block. Hearing the door open, she turned to Brienne and also angled the baby toward her. “Ah, Kaela. Look who’s here.”

Maybe because she understood the words, or she simply recognized her mother’s face, Kaela was all gummy smiles and louder with squeals upon seeing Brienne. Brienne laughed as she tossed her bag on the armchair. She darted to the kitchen to wash her hands, cooing nonsense back to the baby who was now waving her arms while looking at her mother.

“There, there, my sweet. I’m here,” Brienne murmured, taking her in her arms. Kaela immediately calmed but kept murmuring a barrage of sweet, gurgling nonsense. Drool dripped down her chin. Pudgy hands played with the buttons of Brienne’s blouse.

Brienne kissed her gently on the forehead. The fresh, sweet natural fragrance of her baby banished exhaustion immediately. Cradling her against her shoulder, she cooed, “I missed you so much. Did you keep busy today?”

“We went to the park,” Donyse replied, picking up her sweater from the sofa to put it on. Kind, blue-gray eyes watched Brienne making silly faces. “Oh, but she got quite upset earlier.”

“What happened?”

“She didn’t want to nap without her toy.” Donyse pointed at the tan lion plushie on the sofa. Black thread was used to stitch the round eyes, nose and smile. “It must remind her of something. That or she likes the sound.”

“Both, I think.” Brienne giggled as Kaela’s softer-than-rose-petals lips brushed her cheek. The baby promptly drooled on her neck. “That’s the first toy she ever got. From Jaime.”

“Ah. Of course.”Donyse smiled and gestured at the kitchen before picking up her purse. “I shall see you tomorrow then.” She went over to touch the baby gently on the cheek. “Be good, little lamb.”

Alone with her daughter, Brienne took another whiff of her head then pulled back a little to look at her. Born huge at nine pounds and eight ounces, Kaela had always looked bigger than her age. She was seven months now but was the size of someone at least two months older.

Blond hair feathered her smooth, round head now. It was still up in the air whether she would have it pale and straight or golden and in wavy locks. Her eyes, round and big, were the bright, emerald green of her father’s, which never failed to please him. But her size, her freckles, down to her fat, wide feet were all Brienne.

During the first few weeks of her pregnancy, Brienne had been worried about a child who might take after her physically. Jaime, friends and career had given her confidence but it didn’t come until later in life. Love for the peanut-sized thing in her was never a question. But it was that love why she hoped fervently for a baby that resembled Jaime. Because for as long as the baby was in her and not too far from her arms when born, it could count on her protection. But once old enough to play outside and go to school, there was little Brienne could do. She wished her baby to be spared of the meanness she endured for a long time.

However, once laying eyes on her bloody, screaming baby, Brienne was not only overwhelmed by a tidal wave of love and the need to protect her, but also awe at her beauty. It had been too early to determine the color of her eyes but she saw right away her daughter’s strong resemblance to her. And in her eyes, she was the most beautiful in the entire world. Even her Jaime could hardly compare.

Kaela may have the lion’s share of her mother’s features except for eye color and dimples but her attitude was definitely her father’s. She was impatient and quite stubborn already, and the only things that calmed her besides her parents’ embrace and the lion plushie were the sights, sounds and smells of a kitchen. She liked to watch Jaime heat the frozen breastmilk. She squealed and even growled when he was cooking in the kitchen and she wasn’t there, so they always made sure she was within the vicinity as he chopped up vegetables and or cracked egg against the rim of a bowl. She liked to smell the herbs, basil drawing a huge, gummy smile from her. Of spices, cinnamon made her sneeze. Her hands were always trying to grab and touch. Brienne would let her feel broccoli florets, the smooth surface of tomatoes, helped her dip a finger in a pot of honey.

Right now, holding Kaela with one arm against her hip, they looked in the fridge for leftovers to heat or something fresh to cook. There was still eggplant parmesan from last night, so that took care of the meal’s vegetables. After putting it on the kitchen counter and laughing as Kaela tried to snatch the bowl from her, Brienne looked in the freezer next. Of course, Kaela tried to scoop some ice, and squealed and kicked and protest when she was stopped.

Brienne put thick slabs of Jaime’s homemade bacon to defrost in the microwave. As the meat whirled around the oven, she and Kaela explored the kitchen for ingredients to make a marinade or a sauce. The baby cooed and continued her gurgled nonsense as her mother let her sniff dried spices, soy sauce, a jar of pretzels. Brienne laughed when Kaela shrieked and made a face after sniffing apple cider vinegar.

Thanks to Jaime, Brienne had learned to be better at cooking than just knowing how to do it well enough. Although he still insisted on cooking their dinner and taking over the kitchen on weekends, she enjoyed getting home early to do it. Because cooking, she had realized, at its best was an expression of love and devotion. Even though at the moment, since Kaela’s teeth were still new and with more to come, her solids consisted of mashed vegetables and fruit, and finely shredded meat and fish. All washed down with breastmilk.

Kaela made no protest as she was placed in a highchair right next to the counter. With her hands free, Brienne put together ingredients for the sauce, all while keeping one eye on her.

Aside from access to delicious, gourmet food because she slept with a chef, it also meant a kitchen that was not only well-stocked but also had ingredients that weren’t often found in most households. Homemade bacon was one, although Jaime had eventually relented to having Kaela eat store-bought baby food because neither he nor Brienne had the extra time always to give her freshly-mashed, preservative-free food. He remained stubborn about having commercial meat in the house.

For the sauce, Brienne thought to use pure maple syrup and sherry vinegar. She spied lemons and limes so she very delicately peeled zest off them. Kaela giggled and waved her arms and legs excitedly when Brienne stood close to her while whisking ingredients in a bowl.

She loved being with her baby and hated having to be parted from her. It wasn’t mere attachment or worry, and far from urgency to protect her at all costs—it was all of those and so much more. Beyond love. It was one thing when she chased success for herself. It was completely different when she did it for her daughter. Besides Jaime, Kaela was another person she wanted to be proud of her.

With the bacon defrosted enough, she put it in a rectangular dish then poured the sauce on it. Again she kept one eye on Kaela. When she picked her up from the highchair, she saw that it was six-thirty already. Jaime would be closing up the patisserie by this time, then twenty minutes where he would be changing trains until getting home.

Usually, she wasn’t anxious about his arrival. But in recent months she’d been restless and it was only a few days ago when she realized what needed to be done. It had been terrifying. As it should be. She hadn’t counted on how exciting it felt.

“Bath time,” she told Kaela, giving her a little bounce before leaving the kitchen.

Brienne had meant for her and her baby to only take a shower. But water excited Kaela and she kept trying to leap out of her mother’s arms. Rolling her eyes, Brienne muttered that she definitely got her father’s diva attitude then went to fill the tub with water and rubber toys. That mild flare of annoyance turned into happiness as they splashed around the tub.

Relaxed, damp but warm, Brienne wrapped them in a towel. They went to Kaela’s room, and there, of course, was the battle to get her in clothes. Every time she managed to turn Kaela on her back to try putting a diaper on, her daughter always managed to escape. The towel fell from Brienne’s body as she caught her a third time, and this time, through Kaela’s giggle-squeals and kicks, managed to rub protective gel on her then tape a fresh diaper. The next battle were pajamas.

No one had been more excited than Jaime about Brienne’s pregnancy. When she told him she was four days late, he’d gone to the drug store to buy every pregnancy test, a one-liter jug of orange juice and then the lion plushie he spied on a gift shop window while walking back to the apartment. When the five sticks she’d peed on showed positive signs, he surprised her with the plushie. And they fucked of course, to celebrate.

From the moment her pregnancy was confirmed until she was hours away from giving birth, Jaime kept buying things for the baby. A diaper dragon, BPA-free nipples, sippy cups, teething toys. Nearly all was food-themed: the mobile over her crib had fruit and vegetables rather than animals, her plushies included a cow, a chicken, a turtle, a pig, a reindeer. She had a collection of wind-up toys that included a cheeseburger, a broccoli and a carrot that flipped upside-down, making her laugh and squeal. The pajamas Brienne was trying to put on Kaela right now was a bright blue set with pink and yellow cupcakes.

“Kaela,” she pleaded as her daughter shoved her fragrant, fat, diaper-clad butt to her face. ‘Please, mommy needs to put clothes on you. I know it’s warm but you do need clothes.”

She thought to move the battle to the floor. Kaela was getting too big for the changing table, so she was bound to fall. The crib, with all its bars would prevent that from happening but because she loved to turn and crawl, it was only a matter of time before she hit her head. It wrenched her heart whenever Kaela cried.

The floor proved to be a good choice. As Kaela crawled and tried to look under her crib, Brienne crawled too and managed to put her in pajama bottoms. Kaela squealed and kicked, arms once again drawing arcs in the air as she drooled and made more nonsense sounds. Occasionally Brienne thought she heard the beginnings of, “Mmmmmm.” But every time she hopefully said, “Mommy?” Kaela would squeal and try kicking her.

“No love for mommy,” Brienne said with a long sigh, on all fours as she pulled the t-shirt down her pink, thick neck. “But I love you, anyway.”

Smiling, she rubbed the tips of her nose against hers. “Love, love, love you.”

“Brienne?” Jaime called out. The door closed. “Kaela?”

Kaela shrieked and got excited again. Brienne turned her head, narrowly missing a kick to her jaw. “In here!”

The door behind her opened, the familiar sugar, vanilla and warm pastry scent announcing Jaime first before his drawl. “Whoa. _That_ is a sight for sore eyes.”

Only did Brienne remember she was nude and on her hands and knees. Blushing, she got the other arm into the next sleeve and picked up Kaela. Kaela held out her arms to Jaime, who grinned and immediately took her.

“Wonderful.” Brienne remarked, grabbing the towel from the floor.

Peering around Kaela’s shoulder, Jaime sent her a look so heated that it alone could knock her up again. He did a slow once-over that had her blushing more and sweating. Half-squinted emerald eyes took in the damp mess of her hair, darkening when they lowered to her gaze. Tongue flicked out to lick slender lips as he gazed at her very round tits before lingering on the wet cluster of hairs between her thighs.

“Yes,” he murmured huskily, sunk in his desire for her such that he didn’t notice Kaela suddenly fisting his hair and yanking it. “So wonderful.”

The right thing to do was to put the towel on. And then clothes. But when Jaime looked at her like this, and when she saw how he held their daughter like she was all the gold in the world, all she wanted more than anything was to ride him.

Another yank from Kaela snapped Jaime from the trance. “Ow,” he yelped. Brienne smiled and went to uncurl little fingers from his hair. “That should remind me.”

“Keep looking at me like that and there will be another one like this,” Brienne told him, kissing Kaela before fixing his hair.

He smiled. “Would that be so bad?”

“Hmm. Come back to me after you’ve pushed an oven out of your ass.”

He chuckled and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll take your word for it then. Go get dressed. I have her.”

She couldn’t resist giving him another kiss and from the way he hugged her, he wouldn’t mind another and more. Kaela shouting finally stopped them.

Before leaving, Brienne took another look of the two most precious things in her life. Jaime was gently bouncing Kaela in his arms while she drooled all over his shoulder.

She listened to their playful, nonsense banter while getting dressed. As she buttoned up the oversized, pinstriped shirt they shared, she heard Jaime saying, “Whisk. Can you say whisk, Kaela? Whisk. Whissssk. Whisssskkkkk.”

“Sssskuh!” Kaela shrieked.

“Almost. How about cream?”

“Ssskuh! Kuh, kuh! Woo!”

“Daddy loves cream. Can you say cream? It’s his favorite thing in the world. And Mommy’s the only one who serves it special from between her—”

Brienne, about to step into leggings, protested, “Jaime!”

He laughed. A rich, beautiful sound that quickly melted away her annoyance and mortification. She finished dressing and he entered the room with Kaela.

“I see you made sauce for the bacon. You want me to cook?” He asked, sitting at the foot of the bed with Kaela on his lap.

“It’s alright. Besides, you’ve been on your feet all day.” She ruffled his hair and held out her arms to Kaela. “Go shower or put your feet up for a bit. I have her.”

Kaela smiled and Brienne kissed her. Jaime suddenly took her hand. “What is it?”

He shrugged although his eyes were almost golden from the warmth radiating from them. “Nothing. I’m just. . .it’s fucking great. Being with you. Having our baby. I don’t think I tell you enough.”

He turned her hand to press his mouth on her palm. “There are still days when I still can’t believe we are where we are.”

Another kiss on her palm. She cradled his head to her stomach, stroking his soft hair. He had been through a lot, needing therapy for a couple of years. Everything that could break them happened during that time. She sometimes can’t believe herself they’ve finally come up for air—and together.

“You’re the best man I know. And you’ll get sick hearing me remind you of that,” she whispered, earning a sweet smile from him. She caressed his cheek. Because it was summer his face was shaved smooth and his hair short. She missed the more feral, leonine look of him but that Jaime would return come fall. It was her favorite look.

“Thank you.” He laced his fingers through hers. “For everything.”

She bent and brushed a gentle but passionate kiss on his lips. “I love you.”

Jaime kept her hand on his cheek, still wearing that beautiful smile but now touched with something that made her feel like the sun was right in her heart and waiting to burst. “What is it?”

His smile widened and he chuckled. “Nothing. Not now. I’ll tell you later.”

While Jaime showered off the flour and sugar, Brienne once again put Kaela in the highchair while she prepared dinner. She cooked the marinated bacon in a grill pan, filling the apartment with the warm aroma of maple, meat and spices.

The crackle and pop of the meat drew squeals from Kaela again, to Brienne’s delight. She pulled her out of the chair, held her against her hip while they watched it cook.

Jaime rejoined them, smelling of soap and faintly of the pastries he could never completely wash off. He put the eggplant parmesan in the oven to warm. Then he took carrots and squash from the fridge, holding them under Kaela’s nose to sniff. He put them in a pot to boil before giving them a quick pulse in the blender.

Dinner for the adults were bacon and the eggplant dish while Kaela had mashed squash and carrots.

“Wench, you won’t believe this but we have huge orders next week,” Jaime said, cutting a generous slice off the eggplant parmesan before putting it on her plate. “Guess what the orders are.”

“Hmm. Maiden’s Nipples?”

He grinned. “One of them.”

“Oathporkers?”

“Something along that but not exactly.” He layered bacon and eggplant on a fork and held it out to her. She opened her mouth and he put it in.

“You are ridiculously happy. How big of an order are we talking about?” She said, putting some food in Kaela’s pink little mouth.

He tried to be nonchalant but he was clearly excited. The sparkle in his eyes were exactly like Kaela’s. “I have six orders of the penis cakes, four of the tits, three dozen Maiden’s Nipples, Kingslayers and Wenches. Each.”

“Wow,” she teased him. “That’s a lot of dicks.”

“The penis cupcakes have officially outsold Oathporkers. You were right—render it in pink and realistically but in a pretty way and the women will come.”

She laughed. He chuckled too. “I pity the kid behind the counter who always has to repeat the customer’s order. ‘That would be three creamy Dickslayers, ma’am.’”

“I can’t imagine anyone eating that in public.”

“Oh, but they do. And keep posting it in social media.”

“So.” She nudged his ankle under the table. “How’s the turnout?”

He sighed and smiled. “You really have to know.”

“Of course. After all, I proposed that you return the chairs and tables after expanding the patisserie.”

When their lease in the building of the patisserie approached the end, Brienne suggested to Jaime they should see about buying it. Skyrocketing rents as well as the hassle of having to find a new location, which would have them starting right from the beginning again, were arguments that swayed Jaime to making a bid for the building. But to do it would mean mortgaging the properties they had—the apartment they lived in, Selwyn’s old place and Jaime’s. Just as they were faced with the inevitability of having to move, Ellaria stepped in and offered them a loan. With Ros’ help, they all reached the best terms of payment. Jaime and Brienne offered Ellaria a partnership but she refused. With her money, they only had to come up with about a fourth of the amount from their savings to buy the building. The rest went into expanding the patisserie, transforming it back into a proper but small neighborhood restaurant as well as making sure the rest of the building was up to the latest fire and maintenance codes. It took them close to a year, a lot of headaches and arguments.

He kissed her hand. “With the way things are going, we’re set for the rest of our lives.” He nodded at Kaela. “And if it’s something she wants someday, it’s hers.”

“Only if she wants it?”

“Yes. I love what I do but it’s backbreaking work to say the least. I don’t want her to suffer like that,” he stroked her head gently, his voice softening. “If it’s the path she wants, then I won’t stop her. But I’ll make sure she doesn’t go through what I did.”

Brienne readied herself for the warmth and pleasure of the meal to dampen as the past was brought up. Instead, Jaime gave her a little smile, one of hope _. He’s come such a long way._ She reached for his hand and kissed it.

“We’ll guide her.”

“We sure will.” Jaime squeezed back then loaded the fork again. She leaned in for another bite. “Enough about me. How was work?”

“As always, it’s great to have a boss who supports and believes in you. It’s nice to have free rein over the marketing, promotion, the final look.” Brienne looked at Kaela, thinking that just this once, she would like to do something for herself and maybe, just maybe, have her daughter be proud someday.

“I hear a but,” Jaime said, biting into the bacon.

She took a deep breath. “I’m not satisfied, Jaime. I’m not. . .I’m not as happy as I thought I would be.”

He lowered the fork, seeing her distress. “Go on.”

“I gave it three years. I don’t think I’ve disappointed Harry once but this time. . .and I feel foolish but you did tell me to look into it someday. . .”

“Wench, wench.” Jaime’s hand on her wrist stilled her nonsense, panicked rambling. “Look at me. Look at me and tell me exactly what you want.”

She took a deep breath.

“I want my own agency. I want—I want to call the shots, to just concentrate on the creative side again of advertising. I can do marketing and figures in my sleep but that’s not who I am in advertising, Jaime. I’m. . . _I_ am concepts. I like talking with photographers. Setting up the shoot. Coming up with the campaign. But it’s just—it’s just—”

She hung her head.

“Just what, wench?” He asked softly.

“Isn’t it selfish? I mean, it’s no cakewalk starting your own business. And I have a baby. And I don’t want to be so exhausted that I’m never in the mood to fuck.” She gripped his hand then glanced at Kaela. “I don’t want my ambition to take me away from you. From her.”

“First of all,” Jaime said after a moment, “that’s not going to happen. We won’t let it. We’ve had something worse and we’re still here. And there’s nothing bad about wanting your dreams to become real, wench. I’ll be the first to ensure that happens.”

“Ssskuh! Woo!!” Kaela suddenly exclaimed. They chuckled and Brienne spooned more food in her mouth.

“Whisk is going to be her first word.” Jaime declared. “I’m sure of it.”

“She can say anything she wants as long as I don’t miss it.” Brienne said, wiping some of the drool and food bits from her chin.

“You won’t. That’s the second thing, wench. I know you. No matter how much you have on your plate, you’ve always been able to do everything so well. I’m here. We pick up each other’s slack, remember?”

“You don’t think I’m being selfish?”

“Dreams are always selfish. You have to fight for your happiness, Brienne.” He kissed her hand and grinned as Kaela waved a fist at him. “The gods know I did.”

“We’ve just had. . .”

“What?”

Brienne ticked off her fingers. “Expansion of the patisserie, Kaela, not to mention the loan we have to pay off in two years. I’m not complaining but I just wish there’s a right time.”

He startled her by suddenly throwing his head back and roaring with laughter. Then he seized her face in both hands and kissed her hard on the mouth. “What?” She demanded as he stood up and suddenly went to the living room. “Jaime?”

“Hang on.”

Kaela suddenly let out a cry, raising her arms. Brienne cooed and picked her up. As soon as she was pressed against her mother, her hands grabbed her tits. “Ah, it’s still the milk for you, isn’t it?”

She unbuttoned the shirt while trying to keep a firm grip on Kaela. Once a tit was free, Kaela squealed and quickly wrapped her mouth around a nipple. Brienne sighed, cradling her gently as she felt the pull of milk straight into her mouth. She looked up and there was Jaime by the doorway holding the lion plushie.

“She doesn’t really need it right now,” she murmured as Kaela squeezed on her tit. She suckled loudly and eagerly.

“Just in case. Here.” Jaime held it out to her and she took it. “Could you look under his collar for me? There’s something under it.”

Brienne turned the toy over, expecting a loose Velcro strip or a frayed edge. She was about to tell him there was nothing when he suddenly got down on one knee in front of her. There was that smile again, so beautiful and with a warmth mirrored in his green-gold gaze.

Some part of her knew what to find as she turned the toy over again. But her own smile was still one of surprise when she saw the ring looped around it. A princess-cut sapphire winked at her.

“I thought this time I’ll do it right,” he explained, not hiding his pleasure at her carnation-pink cheeks and trembling smile. Her heart thudded a hundred beats a second, or more. Faster. He took the toy from her, glancing at the ring before looking up at her again. “You shot me down the first time.”

The memory drew a very bright tomato blush from her cheeks. “Jaime, you were inside me when you asked me.”

“You say yes plenty of times when I’m in you like that. Was it because my cock was in your ass?”

“One of the reasons, yeah!” She covered her face momentarily. She could laugh now but back then it had been quite upsetting. She was not the sort to be proposed to with a trail of rose petals but still.

He nodded, chuckling too. “You said I should try again.”

“I thought you’d do it the day after.”

“What’s the point of surprising you? But I did ask you again. And pissed you off and the entire ward.”

“I was crowning!”

“It’s still the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen but I thought, why not? Disgusting,” he repeated with a shudder. “On the other hand it’s you, and our baby. Disgusting with all that goo but gorgeous.” As if she understood they were talking about her, Kaela blinked at Jaime and seemed to smile with the nipple in her mouth. She kicked her legs when he touched her head gently.

Looking up at Brienne, he continued, “So, here I am, wench. Giving it another go for the third time. Again, the timing seems off.”

“Does it really matter how you’re doing it this time?” She pointed out affectionately. They stared at each other for a moment before she took his hand and kissed it.

“Before you ask, there’s something I need you to do first.”

His smile turned from hopeful to downright lecherous. She almost dropped Kaela when he palmed her cunt. “You want my tongue or cock?”

“Jaime!” She didn’t like having to close her legs and he withdrew with another laugh. “Really, there’s something I need you to do first. It’s no game. I need you to look in the first drawer of our dresser. My—” she blushed. After all this time she could still blush. “My underwear drawer?”

He sighed and she grabbed his hand, squeezing it. “I swear that when you come back here, I’m saying yes. I’d do it—” she shook her head and laughed again. “I _was_ going to do it but you beat me to it!”

“Well,” he said, brightening. “Now that I know there’s something, I’m very curious. Alright.”

He put the toy on the dining table and went to the bedroom. Kaela freed her nipple and cried again, shuffling to the other tit. Brienne helped her move and she latched quickly. “All that planning for nothing,” she said to herself.

Jaime returned, holding a small, black leather case. Brienne grinned. “Did you look inside?”

“No. I thought you’d want to be around when I do.”

“Before you open it, I was going to ask you on the morning of the patisserie’s anniversary. Wednesday next week.” She turned a bright watermelon-red and was grateful Kaela was no psychic. “I was—I was going to wake you up with. . .with. . .with my mouth. I thought since you’ve asked twice that if I did this time you’d be. . .” She shrugged and sent him a look that was a mix of sheepish, helpless and hopeful. She threw up one hand. “I thought I’d ask you.”

Jaime tilted his head. “Ask me what?”

Her heart in her eyes, she whispered, “Will you marry me, Jaime?”

*******  
  
They got married in city hall. Brienne wore a short, sapphire-colored tuxedo dress and black, kitten-heeled stilettos that gave her an additional two-inch boost over Jaime. He wore a matching suit, paired with a white shirt. On their fingers were engagement rings, Brienne’s sapphire set on platinum and Jaime’s white gold studded with a line of emeralds in the middle. She had commissioned The Golden Company for the piece.

Brienne’s heart was singing while reciting their vows. Jaime’s eyes had a watery sheen too as his husky drawl blended with her voice. As soon as the judge pronounced them married, she grabbed him by the collar and kissed him passionately. He chuckled and kissed her back. One of the people waiting to be married snapped several photos with Jaime’s phone.

Grinning from ear to ear, their faces flushed with happiness, they tumbled out into the hallw _ay. They were married._ Jaime was _her_ husband. Brienne laughed as he grabbed her by the hand and steered her behind one of the pillars, kissing her hungrily. It mattered little that he was rubbing himself on the damp, aching heat between her thighs and people milled about. _They were married._ She dropped her head on his shoulder when he palmed her naked cunt under the dress, the cool metal of his ring making her squeak and quiver.

“I love you so much I have to fuck you _now_ ,” he growled against her ear. She giggled and shook her head. He pretended to whine and she laughed even more. She took his hand and removed themselves from the pillar

Despite all the kissing and pushing each other towards walls and more pillars, they made it to the truck in minutes. She laughed again although she wasn’t so resistant when he slammed her against the passenger door and hissed that she should at least sanction his mouth on her cunt _now._

“Don’t,” she moaned, but left her thighs open for another press of his hand between them. “People will see.”

“Fuck them.” But he just sighed, his frustration clear He was shaking in her arms. She pulled him by by the hair, turned so they switched positions and kissed him. It placated him long enough to help her in the truck and then for him to start the engine and pull out of the parking lot. During the drive, there were mashing of mouths and slides of tongue.

And this time she begged him. Begged to let her ride him. He looked pained pointing out the traffic lights.

Brienne was hot from desire when he pulled up in front of The Sapphire Patisserie. It was eleven-thirty in the morning but it was closed for the day. They were going to host lunch for close friends here. Bronn had volunteered his shop’s services to cater the event although Jaime was adamant about the cake.

While Jaime looked in on the cake, Brienne visited her old office. It was still small although the renovation had given it a bit more space. A computer now had permanent residence on the desk where Shae, whom they promoted to manager, helped with the budgeting and managing the inventory of the patisserie. She had gone back to school and finished with a degree in accounting. Jaime had taken some night classes on the subject as well, to be better-equipped on the money side of the business.

The kitchen had grown to twice its size, with more counters, racks, shelves and ovens. Some employees had left, like Theon, to become a line cook in a hotel. Ramsay had left too, opening a butcher shop with his father. He had liked working at the patisserie but hated his heavy hand. “There’s no happy ending for me here, though I enjoyed my time,” he told Jaime. Other staff left but Jon, whom Jaime kept on. For his loyalty, he got a generous salary increase.

Brienne sat on one of the counters, watching as Jaime examined every inch of the cake he’d conceptualized on the fly.

It was small for a three-tier cake, but what it lacked in size made up for the drama and elegance of its appearance. A cushion of lemon frosted in stark white, Jaime had painstakingly decorated it with silver dots, bands and curlicues for each layer. The final touch was the cascade of orchids as blue as Brienne’s eyes, made of gum paste. Each petal and flower was molded and painted by Jaime.

“That’s really beautiful,” she said, amused as he continued peering at it critically. “I’m probably the only wife in the entire Westeros who can have her cake and eat her husband too.”

She saw his smirk on the glass panel of the fridge as he closed it. Turning to her, he leaned against it. “I do love that my wife has a big mouth that can fit all sorts of things.”

He pushed himself off the fridge, his smirk widening as he nudged at her legs. She parted them, her cheeks red as apples as he moved to stand between them. Pressing her hands on his chest, she asked, “What time will our guests be coming?”

“I have a confession.”

“Yes?”

“I told them to not come for another hour.” He brushed his lips on her chin.

Chuckling, she whispered, “Hmm. I wonder what we can do while waiting.”

“Any ideas, Mrs. Lannister?” He murmured, hugging her around the waist. “I do love the sound of that.”

She kissed him back. “Me too.”

“I don’t know if calling you Mrs. Lannister for an hour is a good use of time.”

“You can tell me how it feels being your own boss. Oh, and advice on the business permits I need to file, all that nasty paperwork—” her words ended in a moan as he suddenly kissed her. She sighed, drawing him closer.

“All that is necessary drudgery but worth it,” he continued between kisses. He closed his eyes as she nibbled on his jaw and nuzzled his neck. Gods, it was just sinful how delicious he smelled. Like freshly-baked bread. Or cookies. Vanilla. She swore he even had a dusting of flour behind the ear. As she sucked on the tip, he held her fast.

Her tits felt heavy and were swollen from the milk. Her squeak of pain was cut off by another kiss, hard and hungry. She devoured him right back, opening mouth and pulling at his tongue. Grabbing him by the ears and hair as their kiss deepened.

Buttons snapped as he opened her dress, followed by another moan from her lips as his hands cupped her tits through the maternity bra. She wrapped a stocking-clad leg around his hip, drawing him closer and inadvertently rubbing her dripping slit on the bulge in his trousers. He groaned and grabbed her around the waist, burying his mouth on her shoulder. His cock poked at her.

“We have to slow down, wench.” He sounded out of breath.

Sniffing him, her tits swelling even more, she murmured, “Is this the place, though?”

“Can’t think of a better place to celebrate than where we first fucked,” he said, kissing her very, very softly.

She should tell him it wasn’t sanitary. And though the counter was industrial steel, they were two very tall, very big people. Her protest died with a kiss. Without a whimper.

She helped shrug off her dress, leaving it half-down her arms. He bent, lowering the cups of the bra to soothe the red, tight cherry of her nipple with tongue, then mouth. Fingers combed through his hair, missing the fluff of when it was long and just about to graze his shoulders. As he suckled milk, he unbuttoned the rest of the dress.

She took his hands and, looking in his eyes, kissed every finger, warmed his calloused palms with lips. Their gazes remained fused to each other’s as she undid the cufflink and brushed airy kisses on the cooking scars around his wrist. Then she cradled one to her cheek, closing her eyes from the warmth and bumps and rises of the skin of his palm.

“If I’ll still get you, for as long as I always get you and Kaela in the end, I’ll go through everything again,” he told her, making her open her eyes and blink at him.

“I won’t let you.”

Resting foreheads against each other, she cupped his face while he stroked her from shoulder to her spine, then her waist.

“You’ll never know pain like that again, Jaime. I swear it.”

He groaned and kissed her hard, passionately. She pushed at his jacket, fought the buttons of his shirt until it was open and she could cover his hairy chest with kisses. But he grabbed her by the hair and took her mouth again. She gave. And gave. He took everything.

They kept kissing as she freed her arms from the sleeves. When he shoved his trousers down. A moment of affectionate, loving mirth was shared as their eyes dropped to his cock straining against the delicate material of her sheer white panties, something of his that would always be hers, clothed in an item of hers he’d borrowed. He pushed them down and stepped back a little.

She gulped at the hard beauty of him. No one should get even more beautiful but Jaime did. Jaime always will. Even the lines around his eyes called for the softest of kisses. Her mouth watered at the even golden hue of his skin, the lean bulge of muscles that began from shoulder all the way to thick, hard wrists scrawled with scars and bumps of burns. She admired the strength of his thighs and legs, but it was his cock, thick and pointing straight at her, that she couldn’t look at enough. This and him, all for her.

“You’re so beautiful,” she said. “Come here.”

Eyes burning like wildfyre swept through her quickly, making her blush as they lingered on her milk-crowned nipples, the vintage dark blue garter belt he’d given her for the wedding and her pale thighs peeking over the band of lacey black stockings. He smirked, a devilish grin that promised everything bad that they would be so good.

Smiling, her cheeks a bright, vivid crimson, she wrapped her hand around is cock and rubbed. They kissed again, this time washed with his sighs and groans of approval over the movements of her hand. On and on she rubbed the foreskin over and down his cock, leaning on each other’s forehead.

“Feels just like the first time,” he gasped, his breath warming her face. As she smiled drunkenly, he suddenly grunted, “And I’m going to come all over you if you don’t stop.”

She squeezed his balls firmly, pleased when his nails bit on her shoulders. “I’m not going to.”

He made a sound between a cry and a chuckle. “Fuck you.”

Then his arms clasped her around the middle of the back, a hand grabbing her by the chin to kiss her fully, bruisingly. It loosened her grip on his cock as she kissed him back, cooing. Then he suddenly swung her off the counter to the floor. Her world spun madly for a breath, until she realized he had laid her on the floor, on their discarded clothes. She turned away from the glare of white lights, but when she tried to look at him he was a blur of gold and emerald. She closed her eyes, mouth opening to let out a soundless little cry when his lips claimed her nipples again.

He made his mark further down—on her stomach, her hipbones, down the length of one leg to the very tip of her toes then up another leg before his mouth landed on where she burned the hottest, the brightest.

 _“Jaime.”_ Her throat was so tight she could barely say his name, and she was hung between the hot dream of his tongue nudging at her folds and the cold surface of the floor but she was too weak, too liquid, and wanted everything that was happening too much to do anything. She tried closing her thighs. He was too much. Heavens beyond the known Seven. Sinful. Rich. Too wonderful to be real but here he was, tongue fucking her cunt. 

Her sobs echoed in the empty kitchen as he drank wetly from her cunt. Hearing his sloppy, slobbery kisses made her jerk and shriek, caused her cunt to pour more cream into his mouth. She was half-dead by the time he gave her the mercy of his cock, every inch he gained inside her bringing her back to life breath by breath, moan by moan.

He lasted all of two thrusts, shouting her name. She wailed as he pulled out, whimpering as he spilled all over her stomach. Her fingers quickly took over, pushing in the dripping passage of her cunt and staying there as she clenched and rocked her hips. Between her gasps and squeals, he took her mouth again.

“I’m sorry, wench,” he whispered a few moments later. They lay facing each other, his arm spread under her to use as a pillow. He plucked at her nipple, collecting a bead of milk then sucking his finger. “That could have gone better.”

She shook her head, resting a hand on his cheek. He opened his mouth, inviting her to push her fingers inside. She did, blushing as he sucked her juices from them.

“No, I loved it. It was really just like the first time,” she assured him, smiling softly.

He chuckled. “You _are_ a wench. You like having me come all over you.”

Rather than admit it, she pressed her burning cheeks on his shoulder. “I do need to be fitted for an IUD. I miss having you come inside me.”

“Hells, me too.”

She kissed him under the ear. “I love you so much.”

Then she pulled away and found him looking at her with watery eyes and breathing very deeply. She kissed him on the lips. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“Brienne,” he groaned. _“Brienne.”_

They did not go further than slow, passionate kisses this time. But it was clear neither wanted to stop. Brienne sighed against his neck then sat up. She picked up his arm to look at the time. He sighed too then got up.

They slowly got dressed. Her panties he’d borrowed ended up in the trash because they were dirty and mangled. Her stockings had runs too but she kept them, as well as the garter belt, in her purse. She washed her nipples under running water then put the bra on.

Jaime had just finished combing his hair when Bronn hollered from the front. They grinned and left the kitchen.

“Took you long enough,” Bronn grunted after Jaime unlocked the door. But he smiled at Brienne as he came in wheeling trays of food with heavenly aromas. “Ah, there you are. Come here.”

“Hello, Bronn,” she said, hugging him briefly. “Thank you for coming.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything,” he said. He looked at Jaime from head to toe. “Well. Look at you. Married at last. Come here.”

While they hugged and ribbed at each other, Brienne excused herself to go to the bathroom. What neither man realized was their voices carried through the walls due to the quiet of the shop.

“You fucked her,” she overheard Bronn accuse Jaime.

“Of course I fuck her. We’re together.”

“No. Bloody fuck, Jaime, she looks like she’s just had your cock. She smells of fucking too. Both of you. You couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to do it in a proper bed?”

“If that’s how she looks, I take it as a compliment. And that’s my wife you’re talking about so fucking behave. What do you have here?”

Brienne smirked and went to the bathroom to relieve herself. In the mirror, she looked at herself. As always, there was her blush. Maybe her eyes were brighter than usual. She definitely couldn’t stop smiling. If this was how she looked after fucking Jaime, she wanted more.

When she returned with plates and utensils, Ellaria and Oberyn were there too, with their two-year-old daughter named Obara, Blackfish, and Ros. A new round of hugs and breathless congratulatory words began.

Jaime and Brienne had debated about inviting Ros since she and Bronn broke up less than a month ago. But she had become a friend and, as Brienne reminded Jaime, was instrumental in helping them agree on the best terms with repaying Ellaria’s loan. Whether she would appear or not was out of their hands but Brienne hoped she would.

Somehow, through all the warm, congratulatory words and hugs, tables were pushed together, a fancy tablecloth was spread, and chairs were gathered. China, utensils and glass were set. As the food trays were placed in the center of the table, Brienne stepped back. Looking over everyone’s heads, she gazed at the photo of Jaime and Selwyn together. It was a bigger blow-up of the one she’d given him before. That one they kept on the fireplace at home. Jaime wanted the bigger photo to be the first thing that snagged people’s attention when entering the patisserie. Right next to it was a brief story of how they met, which now included how she and Jaime met and partnered to continue business.

“Hey!” Ellaria suddenly cried out. Brienne turned and smiled as Donyse arrived with Kaela. Everyone quickly gathered around the baby.

“My love,” Brienne said happily, holding out her arms. Kaela squealed and immediately tried to scramble away from her nanny. Then her daughter was in her arms, pink and smelling of everything that was sweet and beautiful. Jaime kissed her on the forehead and she squealed, “Skuh!”

“What’s she saying?” Ellaria asked as she helped Bronn uncover the food.

“Who knows,” Brienne said, laughing.

“It’s whisk. I’m teaching her baking terms,” Jaime explained.

“That’s so fucking cute,” Bronn said, grinning at Kaela and tapping her chin. She squealed and slapped him on the cheek. “Hey!”

Ros clapped from the other side of the room. “That’s a good baby!”

Oberyn, his hands on Obara’s shoulders, said, “Obara’s first word is aperture.”

Ellaria burst out laughing. “No, it was shit!”

As Obara laughed and Oberyn murmured it wasn’t true, Jaime covered Kaela’s ears. “Come on, not with my baby!”

“Donyse,” Brienne told the nanny. Kaela pressed her wet little lips on her cheek, making her giggle and blush.“I hope you’ll join us for lunch? Bronn is a wonderful chef but don’t tell Jaime that.”

“Thank you, that’s so kind.” Donyse said, smiling. “Shall I take Kaela?”

“No, no.” Brienne pulled out a chair for her. “Please. You’re our guest. Sit down. I’m sorry we’re no better than dragons and wolves,” she added as Blackfish and Bronn got into an argument about the best kind of beer marinade.

Through another round of ribbing and Kaela crying for breastmilk, they finished setting the table and arranging the food. Jaime brought out the cake, the beauty and artistry of the design plunging the patisserie into awed silence. Even Kaela stopped feeding to stare at it with her owlish emerald eyes.

“Skuh!” She cried out, waving her hand at it.

“Hells, that’s gorgeous,” Oberyn breathed, whipping out his camera. As he snapped photos from different angles, he remarked, “Fucking well done, Jaime. You’re an artist. Even your penis cakes belong in a museum.”

Brienne felt a rush of pride and love as Jaime, clearly pleased, acknowledged with a smirk.

Because half of their small party was couples, it was inevitable they sat together: Jaime and Brienne, with Kaela on her lap, Oberyn and Ellaria on Brienne’s left, with Obara between her parents. On Jaime’s right were non-couples Donyse and Blackfish, who was all but sitting on her lap and purring in her ear asking about meats she liked, and then Bronn and Ros. They sat about two feet apart and looked and spoke with everyone else except each other.

The best of spring’s produce, flavors and textures were on the table to be feasted on. Small as their party was, Bronn didn’t scrimp on the dishes nor on ingredients. There was spiced lamb and dill yogurt pasta, the latter resulting in a creamy sauce that didn’t feel too heavy, so there was room for poached salmon with artichokes and charred peppers with lemon ricotta and cucumbers.

Throughout the meal, Oberyn went around snapping candids but mainly focused on Jaime and Brienne. He snapped a photo of Jaime swiping with his thumb grease from Brienne’s upper lip, Brienne breastfeeding Kaela, Brienne smiling softly at Jaime while listening to him, Blackfish and Bronn argue about the best way to roast a pig. The clicking sound of the camera distracted her and when she turned to Oberyn, he quickly twisted the lens, zooming in to catch her cheeks turn bubblegum-pink.

With Oberyn bent on his task to capture every moment, Brienne returned to the lively conversation around her. Kaela finished feeding and Obara, who was sitting next to her, giggled and said, “Milk.”

“Yes, she does,” Brienne agreed, dabbing the bit with the bib.

Ellaria pulled her daughter on her lap. “So,” she began, looking around the party. “You get married in the middle of the week. Does this mean a long weekend honeymoon?”

Brienne grinned. “Yeah, I won’t be back until Tuesday.”

“Where are you going? Who’s watching my goddaughter?”

“We thought we’d just stay at The Golden Stag. Bring her with us.”

“What? Brienne, you need a proper honeymoon!” Ellaria exclaimed.

“What do you mean? It’s a good one!”

“No, no. It should just be you and Jaime. Oberyn and I will be happy to look after Kaela.”

Oberyn, who had just taken a photo of Ros smiling hugely while Bronn had his face buried in the pasta, straightened up and asked, “What are we going to do now?”

Brienne tried to protest and Ellaria put a hand on her shoulder. “Come on. We’d be happy to do it. It’s just a few days.”

“Ellaria, she’s a baby. At least Obara has some independence already. Don’t you?” Brienne cooed at the beautiful, dark-haired little girl. She smiled and nodded. “Good girl.”

“Yeah, but I miss having a baby.” Ellaria kissed Obara soundly on the cheek. “Make no mistake, I love that she can walk now. But I miss how a baby smells. And Kaela smells incredible.”

“Oh, gods, doesn’t she?” Brienne kissed Kaela then looked at Ellaria. “I don’t know. It’s a lot of work.”

Overhearing them, Donyse spoke up. “If Mr. and Mrs. Martell won’t mind I’d be happy to lend a hand. She’s such a precious girl.”

“Donyse, the gods got you right,” Ellaria told her, beaming. She turned back to Brienne. “See?”

“Or I can help.”

Everyone turned to look at Bronn. Including Ros, who swallowed her asparagus wrong and started coughing. He sighed, poured water and gave her the glass. “Here.”

She took a quick sip. “What did you just say?”

“Yeah. What’s happening?” Jaime asked, looking at Brienne then Bronn.

Bronn shrugged. “I’m Kaela’s godfather. Don’t you think I should help looking after her? I mean, what’s the point of having me as one?”

Ros looked suspicious. “Do you have any idea how to look after a baby?”

“No. Does anyone?”

“I remember you clearly telling me you don’t care for children,” she pointed out, taking another sip of the water.

Bronn sighed. “I said I wasn’t sure. Ros, you have to hear me out. A baby’s huge. It’s not like, I don’t know, having a craving for cheeseburger and then going to store to get it and that’s that. If I’m to compare it to food—”

“Please, do not, for the love of the Seven, compare my daughter to food.” Jaime cut in.

“All I’m saying,” Bronn continued, looking at Ros. “Is I don’t want to muck it up. I spend days, sometimes weeks coming up with new menu items, gathering ingredients then experimenting until it’s all perfect. If I’m going to go up and down every store hunting for the best, ripest tomatoes, don’t you think I should put more effort getting ready for a baby?”

Ros suddenly let out a cry and shot to her feet. “I’m sorry. I think I—I think—where’s the bathroom?”

Jaime and Brienne could only point and she ran to the direction of the kitchen. As the door swung behind her, everyone turned back to Bronn.

“She’s pregnant. I admit I said a bunch of stupid things that didn’t come out the way they should have. Excuse me,” Bronn pushed his chair back and headed for the kitchen.

Ellaria cleared her throat. “Yeah, I think Kaela is best left with us during your honeymoon,” she said, breaking the shocked silence.

“I agree,” Donyse seconded.

“I don’t know. . .” Brienne looked at Jaime. “Do you think—do you think we should leave Kaela?”

Jaime looked unsure too. “But we’ll be gone for four days.”

“Four days that should just be all about you. Seriously, it’s not a honeymoon with a child. We love Obara,” Ellaria said as Oberyn joined her. “But it’s a challenge making the time to be just the two of us. And a honeymoon shouldn’t include a baby until, you know, afterwards.”

“We’re only staying at The Golden Stag,” Jaime said.

“Ah, that’s not a honeymoon.” Oberyn said. “You need to go somewhere fun.”

“All you’ll do in a hotel is room service and fuck,” Blackfish suddenly said. When Donyse looked at him, cleared his throat. “I mean, you know. Sex. How is that any different from what you usually do?”

Brienne frowned. “How do you know that?”

Blackfish grinned. “I didn’t. You just confirmed it.”

“I know!” Ellaria snapped her fingers. Kaela squealed and Obara tried snapping her fingers too. “Take my plane. Go to Essos—to Lys, or Braavos. To Myr!”

“Oh, I used to summer in Myr when I was a much younger,” Donyse remarked.

Blackfish smiled. “Did you? I would love to see photos if you have them.”

“Take my plane,” Ellaria pressed Jaime and Brienne again. “Go wherever you wish but do it alone. Don’t worry about Kaela. She’s in great hands. And Donyse has offered to help.”

“That’s a really nice offer,” Brienne said. “But we’ll have to discuss, if that’s alright?”

“Of course. Think of it as our wedding gift to you.” Ellaria said, winking.

Just then, Bronn and Ros returned. There was still tension between them but they were holding hands. Jaime and Brienne exchanged a look and kissed. She rested her head for a bit on his shoulder, thankful that despite the mess he was for a long time, he was someone she could trust. Someone who not only loved her so completely but fought every demon to remain with her. He put an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her. She knew he was thinking the same thing.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” he whispered.

She grinned. “Does this mean you’ll do the speech, then?”

He chuckled and kissed her on the cheek. “Alright. You win.”

He stood up, pouring champagne in Brienne’s flute first then himself before inviting others to pitch their glasses towards him to get the delicious bubbly. “So, speeches usually signify the end but I don’t see any endings here,” he began, looking around before lingering on Bronn and Ros. “Only beginnings. And thanks to Bronn here,” he said, raising the glass toward him, “we’re enjoying one hell of a meal. But our gratitude goes out to everyone in this room. First, for not killing us in springing this wedding on you—”

Everyone laughed and he shrugged, grinning. “Second, for offering to give my wife and I—”

He suddenly paused and looked at Brienne. “My wife and I,” he said, his voice softer, more intimate. “We are very lucky to have friends. . .who clearly want us to have the best honeymoon alone. But more than that, through every joy and challenges you were with us. They say marriage is being together through the worst, through thick or thin, richer or poorer. I know we wouldn’t be together if not for friends like you showing to us what it means to be there for each other no matter what. You taught us how to love. And you’ve shown us to be brave in asking for the love we deserve. I’m sorry that thank you are the only words we can say. But I believe that when you do things for love, the ways of showing it are infinite.” He raised the glass to her. “I can’t wait for the rest of my life to do that for you, Brienne.”

Everyone raised their glass. Jaime turned back to his audience, smiling. “To Brienne.”

“To Brienne!”

Glasses clinked followed by quick swigs then applause. Jaime sat down, laughing as Brienne threw her arms around him. As they held each other, Kaela began to wail. They pulled away from each other long enough to take her back in their arms. Brienne watched as Jaime put Kaela on his lap, gazing at her with love and wonder. Then she put her arms around them both.

All the gold in the world didn’t come close to the treasures she held at this very moment. As she held them, she felt Selwyn’s presence. She sobbed and Jaime kissed her. “Are you okay, wench?”

She nodded, smiling. He kissed her again and she was sure, right this very moment, that she was the happiest living being in the entire universe.


	20. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of Jaime and Brienne several months after their wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayayayayay!!!
> 
> Finishing this fic has NOT been easy. Besides being sidelined by emergency surgery (it went from me going to the doctor to check on something, a misdiagnosis, another visit to a different doctor who went, "Yeah, we need to operate. You need to check in the hospital now," there were emotional upheavals as well as exam to get out of the way. 
> 
> I wish to extend huge, huge thanks to catherineflowers and kristilove. Both have been more than willing to make room for me in their very busy lives. I can always count on their support, love, and as always, looking the world from a different angle. I love you both so much. Also, I'm your biggest fan, ladies. 
> 
> Shoutout as well to my lovely, dedicated readers. I'm so sorry my updates have been sporadic. During a particularly low moment, Cathy kind of talked me down from the tree by pointing out that besides love for the story, my writing has been helping some of you take on the evolving challenge that is life. That was really humbling for me, because my main concern is just that, to write. It's never crossed my mind how my work can help someone get through the day. So if it does, I'm really glad. We don't know each other but I'm glad that in some way, little as it is, life is a tad easier. Stories help me too! 
> 
> And a lot of us need that right now, don't we? Helping in any way we can. Often we think helping is through grand ways, which is great, just to be clear. But most of the time, it's the small ways that tend to have the greater impact and there's so many. A hug, a phone call, a text message checking on someone. 
> 
> Perhaps my absolute favorite thing to do is to gather people at home for a meal. I'm not the best cook but there's more than a couple of dishes I've mastered and friends would ask me to make them prior to the quarantines. I really miss putting myself out there through food. At the moment, writing seems to be the only way I can do it and I'm more than happy to write. It's a great bonus when my work gets love and for each new story I write, I hope to do better-not for myself, really, but for readers. Whether my stuff helps them or just gives them a smut fix, makes them laugh, or just entertains them, I'm always grateful that someone chooses to read my story. 
> 
> Thank you for being with me. :-)
> 
> If you have time to say hello and aren't sick of me yet, I'm on Twitter @CapnTarthister

Because Jaime experimented new recipes at home first, the kitchen was equipped with every different kind of flour and sugar imaginable, an oven as well as the deep fryer Brienne had installed as a gift for his last birthday. Besides fruit, meat, vegetables and cheeses, one could always find a ball of ready-to-use dough whether craving pasta or pastry.

It was because of these why Jaime, who still woke up before the crack of dawn, was far from worried about what to make his wife and baby for breakfast. Time concerned him little too because as far as ingredients went with the food he had in mind, all that was left for him to do was cut up some pieces of dough, heat the oil, make coffee. Fruits can also be pulsed in the processor in no time.

Before returning to the bedroom, he looked in on Kaela. She was fast asleep in her cot, thumb in her mouth and her favorite lion plushie cocooned in her arms. He smiled, sweeping the pale curls from her flushed, freckled cheek before drawing the blanket high under her chin. Then he kissed her on the forehead and went to Brienne.

He found her sleeping on her stomach and snoring softly. He sat at the foot of the bed, content to just watch her. The heavy comforter had slipped to her waist, baring the long, wide span of her freckled back and the upper curve of her buttocks. One leg had slipped free. It called for the gentle, barely-there slide of his finger up and down its long length and that’s exactly what he did. She continued to sleep.

The better choice would be to pull the comforter over them and sleep for another half-hour. His eyelids still felt heavy from their fuckfest that began as soon as Kaela was asleep. But a cup of strong coffee would fix it. The stirring under his robe on the other hand—now, that really wasn’t going to go away soon.

It didn’t help he wanted her. Wanted her so, so very badly.

He slipped off the robe then carefully pulled the rest of the comforter to her feet. He knelt on the bed, his knees flanking her legs. He brushed his lips on a firm, muscled calf, licked the sensitive indentation behind her knee. She continued to snore.

He covered the backs of her thighs with kisses and licks, slowly making his way up the round thrust of her buttocks. He smiled seeing the faint, dried smears of semen there. He had to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth because he was practically drooling. All of him called to devour her. But he chose to savor her with little kisses on the taut warm flesh.

“Hmm. . .” The sound was sleepy and sexy. As she continued to murmur, he parted her flesh and pushed his tongue inside.

He knew the exact moment she woke up. Her ass stiffened against his cheeks and a little gasp left her lips. As he tongued her swollen pucker, she made a louder gasp. “J-Jaime?”

He moved away enough to give her room to turn and lie on her back. Grinning from between her thighs, he watched her push hair from her face. Sleepy, lust-blown sapphire eyes regarded him. As he laced his fingers through hers, she let out soft, stuttering breaths.

“H-Hi.”

He chuckled then shouldered her thighs far apart. Scooping her hips in his palms, his tongue parted her folds until feeling the slick skin of her clit. Very, very slowly, with the tip of his tongue, he spelled hello on her clit.

She responded with one loud gasp after the next. She fisted the comforter.

Her sexy, breathless mewls blended with his loud, wet slurps of her clit. She was sticky and still tasted of fucking, as well of the fresh burst of _Brienne_ and summer. Her pussy rippled against his bearded cheeks as his tongue moved lower between her folds.

And thrust.

Again. Again.

And thrust some more.

Her shrieks was all the encouragement he needed. Gods above, she was sinfully delicious. He drank, slurping and swallowing every sticky drop pouring out of her. He gripped thick, powerful thighs that trembled and jerked to crush his head. His tongue pushed deeper in her pussy in wicked retaliation.

 _“Gods, Jaime.”_ Her moan was a graveled, husky sound dragged deep from her throat as she came. He continued fucking her with tongue even when she softened and collapsed heavily on the bed. Then he raised his head a little, catching her swollen clit between teeth. It pleased him when she grabbed one of his hands to press on her tits, squeaking for him to touch her, pinch her.

She was splayed like a well-used rag doll with heavy arms and legs by the time his cock punched inside her pussy. He cupped her from behind the nape, needing no words for her to give him her eyes. He fucked her fast, dizzy and hardly seeing straight from the heat and intensity of his arousal. Her soft touches on his face and shoulder and the shy thrusts of her tongue in his mouth centered him, gave him the necessary focus to concentrate on the heaven of being inside her and surrounded by her arms. Drunk and high on the pleasure, he lasted longer than he’d expected.

 _“Brienne, fuck.”_ He cried out, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his vision blackened followed by a burst of white light.

They had probably passed out because the next thing Jaime heard was the loud beeping of the alarm clock, followed by Brienne’s groan. He cursed sleepily under his breath and moved off her. As he pressed his face on the pillow, the baby monitor crackled with Kaela’s little cry.

“Seven fucking hells,” Brienne muttered. She had rolled close to him and pressed her face on his shoulder.

“It can’t be morning already,” he whined.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news. Get up.” He felt her kiss him on the cheek then heard the heavy, loud rustling sounds of comforter and sheets as her huge body moved. He opened one eye, saw something he liked, and opened the other.

Though Brienne had lost most of the weight gained from pregnancy, a roundness lingered in her body. Her tits had a definite jiggle now, and bigger aureoles too. Her nipples had crossed from soft, candy-pink to a red-pink color made more vivid by her pale skin. On her stomach was a stubborn roll of loosened skin that frustrated her but was his favorite change in her body.

 _Second favorite_ , he clarified to himself sighing longingly at the _vision_ between her legs. Dirty-blond pubic hairs grown more abundant, thicker. She turned away to pick up his robe and he sat up, chin resting on a fist as he watched looked at her ass dreamily. It was still firm but wider now. How he loved palming this new curve, and the lines of her body that had softened. She was still strong and leanly muscled, thanks to running and heavy, big baby that preferred her arms to walking. The new sensuality and ripeness of her body made her even more irresistible.

The weeks following Kaela’s birth had been a struggle, on top of them being exhausted from waking up during the night to feed and change her. Fucking was so integral to their relationship and he had really missed being with his wife this way. The worry of hurting her killed any urgings from his cock, and he had been truly happy to slowly work her up to fucking again.

Perhaps it was hormones, maybe it was all in his head, but Brienne’s pussy had a more potent kick now. He had to go easy with his foot pressed on the gas pedal on the way home because he was more eager than ever to plunder her plump folds with his tongue.

Those five months when he couldn’t stick his cock in her seemed a distant dream now. Now that Kaela was eighteen months, she slept through most nights and grew more independent. Almost as soon as they put their daughter to bed, they adjourned to the bedroom and fucked the night away.

As Brienne threw the robe on, Jaime got up from the bed. Rubbing his eyes and yawning loudly, he picked up the dildo that had fallen to the floor, and the spreader leaning against the wall. He found the handcuffs buried under some pillows. Kaela continued to cry from the monitor.

“I’m such a bad mother,” Brienne complained, jamming her feet in fuzzy slippers.

“Disagree, wench.” He said, putting the handcuffs and dildo in the drawer. “Come here.”

He cupped her face in one hand and kissed her gently. When he pulled away, her cheeks were a rich, raspberry color.

“How can I not love you?” She murmured.

He shouldn’t be so fucking happy because they told each this often. But he felt as if floating in air. She kissed him this time then hurried out of the room.

He was still smiling when he was dressed and putting square-cut pieces of the dough in the deep fryer a few minutes later. The radio blared from the background, with the deejay informing listeners of the cold day waiting outside the door. They were in the last weeks of fall.

“Look who’s awake,” Brienne announced, striding into the kitchen with a flushed, scowling Kaela in her arms. Jaime grinned at how much she looked like her mother now. He held out his arms and her scowl gave way to a sunny smile made even more sweeter by the gaps between her teeth.

“Da!” Kaela exclaimed as Jaime took her.

“Da, indeed.” He said, kissing her on the cheek. He bounced her gently, drawing a giggle from her.

Even as an infant, Kaela had been big. Now that she mere months away from being two years of age, she had grown so much bigger. She was not fat but stocky and heavy. Jaime’s arms were numb seconds after only carrying her but he didn’t let go.

While Brienne prepared coffee and scanned the fridge for fruits to put in the food processor, Jaime, with Kaela in one arm, lifted the tray from the oil pit, shaking it gently before plopping the fried, square pastries on paper towels.

While waiting for the oil to drain from the pastries, Jaime took Kaela to the table and talked to her—which involved gibberish and a few clear words. “Da” was daddy, of course, and “whisk” still her default choice of words. But her vocabulary had expanded to sugar, momma, berry, cherry, and “nana” which they now knew meant banana. She could communicate in a few sentences now too.

“Hey,” he told Brienne as she went to the table to put the coffee pot there. He watched her smile at Kaela while pouring the beverage into deep mugs. Kaela’s smile was the cutest but Brienne’s did things to his heart rate. “What do you think about going away after the launch?”

“You mean next week?” Brienne asked, letting Kaela sniff the coffee. Kaela giggled.

“Well, if not next week then sometime after the launch. I was thinking maybe just for the weekend. We go for a drive. Rent a cabin?”

“That sounds wonderful. I would love a weekend away from the city.” As Kaela shrieked and tried to reach for one of the mugs Brienne was pulling away, she added, “Kaela too.”

“Our first ever family trip,” Jaime agreed. Brienne’s eyes twinkled. Then, lowering his voice suggestively, he added, “But it won’t be family-friendly at night, wench.”

Brienne laughed, blushing all the way down to her neck. “Shush.”

“I’ll make the arrangements, don’t worry.”

She surprised him with a sudden, passionate kiss on the lips. As he stared back at her dazzled, she caressed his cheek, “What did I ever do to deserve someone like you?”

“Come now, wench. It’s not like I’m the catch of the century.”

She shook her head but she was smiling. “I love reminding you what a great man you are, Jaime. Most would have complained about my late nights and headaches getting the agency up and running already. I hate being away from you but you’ve never made me feel guilty not even once. And sometimes you even bring pizza. Pizza you made yourself.”

“It’s my turn to cheer you on. I love taking care of you this time.” He stroked her cheek, loving the splash of freckles there. “The headaches are a thing of concern, though.”

The Sapphire Collective, Brienne’s advertising agency, was just six months into operation. It hadn’t been easy making her dream come true. Rents for commercial space had reached dizzying heights, not to mention all the permits and certifications she had to get because of the daycare facility she included in the agency. As added pressure, once the advertising world got wind of Brienne putting up her agency, speculation was rife on whether she had the makings of the next leader in the field or she was better off working under another agency.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he continued. “What’s the point of having partners?”

In order to make her dream come true, Brienne had needed not only investments but also had to take on partners. Jaime was more than happy to put money in her business, ignoring her protests. The money helped her afford a good-sized commercial space in a building just two blocks away from The Sapphire Patisserie. Then she offered partnerships to Podrick Payne, a former colleague from Spectrum, and Ellaria.

Ellaria had been a surprise choice, given her absence of advertising background. But Brienne needed someone with financial know-how and coincidentally, Ellaria was looking to leave her old job for another that was still as challenging yet enabled her to control the hours and still go home early enough to join her family for dinner, which had expanded to now include a ten-month old baby. Ellaria agreed to Brienne’s terms and resigned from her job right away.

“They’ve been more than helpful, don’t worry. My headaches are just from the anxiety for the launch, that’s all.” Jaime saw her back bite a smile. “I do take care of myself. I promise. I don’t want to be too tired to fuck.”

He chuckled. “I did something good to get someone like you.”

They kissed quickly and Brienne went to finish setting the table. Jaime took he pastries from the paper towel then arranged them on a plate. On the way back to the table, he took the little can of powdered sugar from a shelf.

“Wanna help, dumpling?” He asked Kaela as she looked up at him hopefully. She burst into a gorgeous, happy smile.

“Yes!”

He put her hands on the can then guided in her dusting sugar all over the pastries by moving it around and patting it. Brienne watched them with a soft smile.

Preparing food for his little family and enjoying it with them would always be one of the happiest moments in Jaime’s day. He loved seeing the curiosity on Kaela’s face whenever new food was placed in front of her. Seeing her grin and shriek in excitement over her bowl of strawberries, blackberries and bananas told that he was right where he should be.

But it was still Brienne’s pleasure he looked forward to most of all. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as her swollen, red lips parted to take a bite of the pastries. Powdered sugar coated her lips and smeared her chin. She would always be an adorable, sexy mess of an eater.

While she cleaned up in the kitchen after the meal, Jaime took Kaela to the bathroom. They showered together, with Kaela hopping and splashing her feet at the little puddle nearly giving him a heart attack as he feared she would slip. Then he bundled her in a thick towel and himself with another around the waist.

Brienne arrived at the bedroom just as they were going out, Kaela’s clothes and a diaper in her arm. There was still powdered sugar on her chin so Jaime _had_ to lick it off this time. She was still laughing as she went to the bathroom, leaving him to dress their daughter.

It was still a battle getting clothes on Kaela, who laughed and squealed as her father chased her around the bedroom, his hand clutching at the towel around his waist. By the time he managed to slip a diaper on her, Brienne was leaving the bathroom. As she wrapped her hair in a turban-style, he stared at the droplets of water gleaming like little diamonds across her broad, freckled shoulders and legs. She raised her arm to swipe deodorant.

 _How is she so fascinating?_ He thought as she finished and went to stand in front of a full-length mirror. She raised the towel and turned her ass toward the mirror, frowning at what he could only imagine were phantom scrawls of cellulite.

“Da.” Kaela cupping his face in her soft hands gave him the necessary distraction. He chuckled and finished dressing her: underwear, striped blue-and-white leggings, denim shorts with an elastic band, a t-shirt then a bright red sweater with a graphic of a dragon sipping milkshake through a straw. He put fleece-lined brown boots on her feet.

After they were dressed and gave Kaela’s bag of toys, clothes and other necessities a final check, they went their separate ways—Jaime to his truck and Brienne to her car. He smiled as she fixed the collar of his coat.

“You don’t have a scarf,” she murmured.

“I’m alright. Come kiss me now.”

Cold as it was, Jaime felt his cock twitch as fiery scarlet exploded from Brienne’s cheeks. The warmth of her face seeped through his gloves as they kissed. She tasted minty, fresh. He groaned and pushed his tongue in her mouth, inviting her for a quick, wet spar. Little gasps warmed their kiss.

As they parted a few moments later flushed and out of breath, he declared, “I’m definitely taking you away for a weekend, wench.”

She nodded, blinking at him. “I-I can’t wait.”

To give her time to recover for the quick drive and himself to get his head together, he went to the backseat of her car and smiled at Kaela. “Be good, dumpling,” he whispered, kissing her on the forehead.

When he straightened up, he saw Brienne was still blushing and there were stars in her eyes. “So, ah, see you at lunch?”

“Of course.” He kissed her on the cheek and quickly pulled away. One kiss was simply never enough with her.

The drive to the shop took less than twenty minutes, including finding a parking spot and the short walk from across the street. As soon as he was out of his street clothes and in his uniform, he was swept away by a whirlwind of activity.

He saw Shae and Jon in the office for the monthly meeting. Revenue was steadily rising, due to the increased sales of fall favorites such as kingslayers, the tube-shaped pastries filled with cream and chocolate chips, pillow puffs, wenches, and Briennes, deep-fried puff pastries filled with strawberries and cream. Oathporkers and maiden’s nipples sold well year-round. Aside from short order favorites, catering as well as cake orders were on the rise—especially the kinky cakes. The savory pastries exclusive only during fall and winter were hugely popular too.

Despite the influx of money, there were expenses that gave Jaime a headache. According to Shae, the toilet in the employees’ bathroom kept running and needed immediate repair. It was a problem going on for two weeks and Jaime dreaded the higher water bill awaiting them. From Jon, there were two ovens on the brink of death. The purchase should be easy, but the delivery would take a few weeks. The central heating needed fixing too.

Jaime sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose briefly before speaking. “Let’s get a plumber here right away. Shae, call Tormund so he can look at the heating and maybe recommend a plumber to come here today. Jon, you and I need to talk some more about those ovens.”

“I also did the final costing for the launch at The Sapphire Collective,” Jon said, showing him the sheet. Jaime whistled upon seeing the price.

“I’ll need my wife to sign off on this first before we start getting the ingredients. But the ovens first.” 

With the patisserie now offering dine-in services because of the expansion, business was performing better than Jaime had expected. In spite of repairs and pesky annoyance sbeyond his control, he had reliable employees. Promoting Shae and Jon had made them even better.

Still, there remained a few kinks. Jaime had a fresh batch of wenches thrown out because they were dense rather than airy, melt-in-your-mouth bits of sweetness. Bacon that wasn’t drained on paper towels after cooking were sprinkled on oathporkers, resulting in a greasy, inedible mess that made Jaime sick just seeing them. He shoved them in the dumpster himself, but not before giving the staff a blistering lecture about quality and wasting food.

He had calmed down by the time Bronn arrived towards noon, there to buy Ros’ favorite kingslayers and for Jaime to see his godson, a round-cheeked baby with dark red hair named Gavin. Jaime grinned and scooped him up from the stroller.

“Hey, little man. Looking sharp there,” he said, rubbing noses with him. Gavin gurgled and let out a squeal, drawing the eyes of the mostly-female customers. Bronn cocked an eyebrow at them as they gave Jaime heated, lingering looks. Meanwhile, Jaime’s attention was all on the baby.

“He gets bigger everyday, I swear,” he went on, bouncing him a little. “Looks more like his mom too, fortunately.”

“Fuck you,” Bronn retorted but he was grinning. Jaime knew that look of pride and love too well. He was never without it around Kaela.

“Let’s hope he gets more of his mom’s manners too,” Jaime teased, chuckling as Gavin yanked at his ear. “Ow.”

“You and Brienne thinking of having another one? Kaela’s old enough,” Bronn said, reaching in his wallet to pay for a half-dozen box of wenches.

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind another. It would be great. Especially when it’s as cute as this one,” Jaime said, giving Gavin a quick little squeeze. The baby squealed and smiled at him. “We’ll have to talk about it, I guess.”

“Come now. Really?”

“We work full-time jobs, Bronn. She’s also getting the agency off the ground. I don’t want any more pressure on her. She has enough on her plate.”

“But what if she wants another one?”

“Then I’m on board. I’d be an idiot to even have second thoughts.” He smiled at Gavin. “The sleepless nights are worth it.”

After Bronn stashed the carton in a cradle under the stroller, Jaime saw them off the door. He went to the kitchen to start making lunch.

The perks of owning a business such as the patisserie and the short distance between his and Brienne’s work was being able to have lunch with his family. Pride went into preparing the meals too, for he possessed skills and the know-how to upgrade ordinary food into gourmet palate-pleasers—and made healthier too.

Besides, in a few years Kaela would begin school. So while still possible, he wanted them to have as many meals together as often as possible. He doubted if Kaela would remember every meal they had but he wanted her to have memories of delicious meals enjoyed with parents who loved her.

Brienne teased him sometimes for being a tad overprotective in his refusal to let Kaela be anywhere near heavily-processed foods. But he actually enjoyed the process of making store-bought kiddie edibles healthier. So today, he was making Kaela cauliflower-based pizza.

He pulsed the cauliflower in the food processor until it achieved a rice-liked consistency. Then he mixed it with fresh cheese, chopped herbs and eggs. After tossing and shaping it into the size of saucers, he slathered fresh tomato sauce all over, once again piled cheese, and then spinach, mushrooms and bacon.

As the pizza cooked, he worked on Brienne’s lunch next. Her headaches worried him—he knew she hardly missed meals because he brought her lunch and she was a healthy eater. The stress of organizing The Sapphire Collective’s formal launch was clearly taking a lot out of her than she realized. He was proud and very happy she had finally set up her own shop but didn’t want her health compromised.

Another possible culprit behind her headaches was the low-carb meals she had asked him to do in order to knock off the final pounds off the weight she’d gained during pregnancy. Those days were over.

The shop had bacon in abundance so that went to the sandwich Jaime decided to make. As it cooked, he looked in the storage room, the shelves. He collected vegetables, packages, little cannisters before putting them on the counter. Setting the bacon aside to drain on a paper towel, he started chopping up onions and the butternut squash.

They were put in the pan where the bacon was cooked, the fire on low heat. As his employees looked and craned their necks to try seeing the next masterpiece he was making, Jaime added brown sugar. He swirled and turned the pan side to side, aided by a wooden spoon to cook the squash evenly on both sides. He assembled the ingredients into a sandwich, adding generous shreds of gouda and the crispy bacon. The final touch was cooking the sandwich through a press, flattening it and securing the contents.

“Hey, boss,” Shae called from him by the door. “Sorry, but there’s someone who insists on seeing you. I can send her away if you want?”

Jaime, packing the sandwiches in a foil, glanced at her briefly then resumed the task. “Who is it?”

“Says she’s a Mrs. Marbrand. That she knows you.” Shae sounded doubtful.

“Everyone knows me, it seems,” Jaime muttered. “Fine, give a minute. Could you put together a half dozen box of Maiden’s Nipples for me?”

He brought the bag to the office then went to the locker room to change back into street clothes. The crimson clogs, newish at three months, went to the top shelf. Inexpensive, they were nevertheless special. Kaela had somehow gotten her hands on them one day and scrawled all over with permanent marker. But he didn’t want to get a new pair so Brienne painted cupcakes and other pastries all over.

He returned to the office to take his backpack and his coat. Before leaving, he smiled at a photo of him and Brienne on the desk. They had gone to Oberyn’s studio for the photo. It was Jaime’s favorite from the series because Brienne was smiling hugely for the camera and was hugging him from behind. The other photo was of Brienne with Kaela in her arms.

He put his coat on and slung the bag over his shoulder. He went out to the front, where Shae was behind the counter and wrapping up a customer’s order. “She’s outside. Long brown hair, purple jacket.” Then she handed him the half-dozen box of pastries, already secured with the signature sapphire-blue ribbon.

He sighed and looked at his watch. Whatever this Mrs. Marbrand wanted, it better be short. It was annoying but sometimes, prospective clients thought that by telling him their orders, things would be faster. And he hated anything that could delay bringing lunch to his family.

Still, he forced himself to smile as he went to the brunette. “Sorry if I’d kept you waiting, but is there anything I can do for you— _shit_. Margaery? You’re Mrs. Marbrand?” The last syllable was a squeak.

Her laugh was a soft, girlish sound still. Nothing beat grunting motorboat sounds with a touch of horsey. Still shocked by her appearance, it took a few seconds for Jaime to realize she had held out her hand for him to shake.

At least, that’s what he thought it was for. She had positioned it as if for a kiss from a subject. He shook it quickly and sat on the chair.

“It’s Margaery Marbrand now,” she told him. She had ordered a cappuccino and, since someone in Seven Heavens was taking some sick delight in torturing him, a slice of the famous chocolate cream pie.

“Ah. Married now, I see.” What could he say?

“To a furniture designer. Addam designs furniture for bars and restaurants.” Margaery looked around, still smiling. “Great place, Jaime. And fantastic coffee,” she said, emphasizing with a sip. “The chocolate cream pie is still the best, of course.”

“Thanks. So, ah, what can I do for you?” He asked after she’d taken a bite. “I’m sorry but I’m in a bit of a rush.”

“Would you rather we talk here or in the kitchen?” She smiled, tilting her head.

“You know the kitchen is off-limits to anyone who isn’t an employee.”

“That’s still one rule you won’t break. Well, one of the two,” she murmured to herself before resuming her normal volume. “I read an article about Brienne Lannister and making workspaces friendly to working mothers. Who would’ve thought? By the way, you look good.” Her eyes softened as did her voice while uttering the last word.

“Nice of you to say so. You look well.”

“I thought she just took over since your former partner was her dad. Who knew she was this advertising big shot?”

Her smile was so sweet Jaime feared it would crawl with ants. Sitting as far away as possible from her, he asked, “So, Marge. This surprise visit of yours. . .I’m guessing there’s a reason behind it?”

“You do know me very well,” she remarked, crossing her legs. The tip of her shoes touched his shin. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat to avoid it.

“The reason being. . .?”

“I’m no longer with the restaurant.” She sipped the coffee quickly. Putting it back down with a noisy clatter, she continued, “It closed two years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He was sincere. Though they knew each other only really well in bed, he did know she cared for the restaurant.

She shrugged gracefully. “Well, when you refuse to put unicorn infusion cocktails in your beverage menu, that’s your death warrant these days. Except you, of course.” She gestured behind her. “You dodged the hipster bullet by offering new takes on classic pastries, introducing a line of kinky cakes and now, savory pastries. The Sapphire Patisserie’s social media accounts have a total of ten million followers.”

“Brienne’s work.” He was so proud of her. “She started it. So, ah, now that you’re no longer with the restaurant, what are you doing?”

“Being a mother, mainly. And director of food and beverage for The Golden Stag.”

Now he was really surprised. She gave him a knowing look through her eyelashes. “Yes. I know you worked there. Quite the legend you were, actually. And not in the way I knew about you,” she added suggestively.

He tried not squirm in his seat. Seeing that he was uncomfortable, she quickly said, “I’m sorry. That’s not what I should have said. But I have a good reason for ambushing you like this.”

“Ambushes are rarely good, if you think about it.”

“I have an offer.”

He tensed. She laughed and reached over to pat him on the knee.

And kept her hand there.

“I want you to come work with me, Jaime. As Executive Chef.”

He moved again to dislodge her hand. “Selwyn Tarth’s old job?”

“Well, yes,” she said, lounging back in her seat. “Though it hasn’t been his for a long time. I do know he’s still the best The Golden Stag’s had. And you’re more than a worthy successor.” She looked around again before returning her gaze to him. “Work with me, Jaime. I have the full backing of the executive committee to create the best team. That begins with you.”

When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “I have no bitterness, no other feelings for you beyond the professional. You have my word.”

“There is no reason to not believe you, Margaery. But this isn’t something you expect me to make a decision about right away.”

“Of course not. Traditionally, you would be invited for an interview. But we do know each other already. . .Jaime,” she leaned forward again. “Name your price. Name it and it’s yours.”

The shock and flare of pleasure over her offer died in an instant. It was all too familiar.

“Jaime.” She looked hurt when he remained silent for a few seconds. “I’m trying here.”

“I know. It’s just. . .whether we had a past or not, to me it doesn’t matter. A job like the one you’re offering means having to walk away from what I’ve built. With Selwyn. With Brienne.”

“Surely your wife will not stop you from going after what you want?”

“No.” He answered quickly. “Brienne’s not like that.”

“I understand about needing to take time but Jaime, look around you. Look at yourself. You are one of the most talented, if not the most talented chef of your generation. If you want a name that lives on, you should aim for something bigger than a neighborhood place.”

When he still didn’t say anything, she went on, “I meant what I said. Name your price and it’s yours. This shop is just a steppingstone on your way to becoming a grand master chef, Jaime. You belong in a modern kitchen where staff quake just hearing your name. You deserve to craft the most sumptuous foods for the most discerning palates. Presidents. Kings. Caviar, Jaime. Would you really prefer cupcakes. . .to caviar?”

*******

“Mr. Lannister.” Jojen Reed greeted him from behind the reception desk of The Sapphire Collective. The skinny young man smiled at him. “It’s good to see you, sir.”

Jaime chuckled. “Thanks for telling me that. . .everyday. Is Brienne in a meeting? I have lunch.”

Jojen checked the calendar. “She still is, but her assistant Taena asked me to bring you to her office when you arrive.”

“I can go there myself, no problem. But I think I’d better collect my daughter first?”

“Sure, sir. But can I take your bag?”

Damn, but Brienne lucked out on having polite staff. Jaime watched Jojen take the bag into the office before turning on his heel to head for the daycare facility across the hall.

The Sapphire Collective became the top agency of choice for clients and employees alike as soon as Brienne’s interview was released.

Her brief tenure as creative director for The Golden Company had filled her with so much guilt in leaving Kaela with just a babysitter all day. She still did astounding work but had enough awareness to know that it wasn’t as fantastic as it should be if only she could concentrate instead of hating herself.

Her portfolio from her days in Spectrum made her a household name advertising, but her success at promoting, marketing and re-branding The Sapphire Patisserie served as the ultimate calling card. Jaime had always thought she should be running her own agency rather than answering to higher ups—she was just too good to be a mere employee. With his encouragement and support, she quit her job at The Golden Company and planned the kind of agency she wanted to work at, in order to attract the best and like-minded employees and partners. The daycare facility had prospective assistants, copywriters, account executives lined up from end to end back when she started interviewing for positions.

Jaime peeked through the glass door first before letting himself in. Daycare staff were three: Gilly, who gave up her private care nursing business to manage the place, and two child minders. There was a total of eight children, from ages ten months to three years old.

“Hey there. Here to pick up the dumpling,” Jaime told Gilly.

“Of course her nickname is food,” Gilly teased him, waving at Kaela. Kaela, who was in the middle of playing blocks with other kids, squealed upon seeing Jaime. He laughed as she picked up the lion plushie from the floor next to her then ran toward him.

“Da, da, da!” She barreled into him, making him laugh as he caught her in his arms. He picked her up and kissed her soundly on the cheek.

“I missed you. Did you miss me?”

“Miss too,” Kaela murmured, grabbing him by the cheeks and kissing him. Then she pressed her face on his neck. “Da.”

“By the Seven, you’re just too adorable,” Gilly said, handing him Kaela’s bag.

“She does most of the work, that’s for sure,” Jaime said, cuddling his daughter closer. He held out his other hand to get the bag and to also extend the box of pastries to her. “Thought you and the girls would like something sweet with the coffee.”

Gilly’s dark eyes lit up with pleasure as she relieved him of it. “This is so nice, Jaime. Thanks.”

With Kaela and her bag in his arms, Jaime crossed the hall again. He nodded at Jojen on the way, glad that the receptionist didn’t insist on helping him again. He appreciated it but his job was to answer phones and direct clients, not assist his boss’ husband.

He walked past workstations where employees were discussing proposals for current projects, the tones swinging from frustrated to animated. Some of them smiled at him, one man and two women who gave him searing looks from head to toe. He grimaced, securing his hold on Kaela and raising her a bit to cover his face.

In another life, he would be flattered. Now he was just uncomfortable. He will have to talk to Brienne about them.

Brienne’s office was at least twice the size of what passed as his back in patisserie. Though the décor was sparse, there was a comfy sofa covered in faux cream leather, an antique coffee table on which a ceramic pot held a lush, green ferns, a glass-topped office desk currently piled with Brienne’s laptop, folders filled with tabbed papers, a pencil holder. The only neat corner of her desk were occupied by two picture frames. In the first was the same studio photo he had back at work, and the second was him and Kaela grinning widely for the camera.

Behind the desk was a playpen for Kaela. Jaime put her there, kissing her on the forehead while she hugged her lion plushie. “Stay here while daddy gets lunch ready, alright?”

She nodded, giving him an angelic smile. He tapped her little nose then went to work.

Besides the food, he had also prepared healthy beverages. For Kaela he made a simple, apple-banana milkshake. Brienne was trying to cut down on her coffee and often cracked by the afternoon. So he made her a chocolate matcha smoothie with bananas, avocado, pitted dates, cacao powder and swiss chard and milk. He was having the same thing.

“Hey!” He turned around at the sound of Brienne’s voice. He chuckled as he was suddenly engulfed in her arms, his nose against her warm, fragrant neck, round tits and hips doing things to his mind and body that made him want to pull down the blinds and have Jojen watch over Kaela for ten minutes. Brienne’s soft little kisses traveling up and down his cheek before taking his lips told those ten minutes would be a very good idea.

All too soon, the kiss was over but their arms were still around each other. “I’m sorry. Were you waiting long?” She asked, blushing as he played with the buttons of her blouse.

“Not really. Meeting went well?”

She nodded, her eyes twinkling. Before she could spill any more details, she looked past his shoulder and took off to sweep Kaela up in her arms. “My love. Hi. Mommy’s here.”

Gods but the sight of Brienne with their daughter never failed to move him. The way she lit up with love, and how Kaela blossomed even more as she basked in it—he will never tire seeing it. He grinned as Kaela spread her arms, demanding, “Mommy, turn.”

“Oh. A turn. Okay.” And with that, Brienne spun on her feet, laughter and giggles filling the room. When it was over, she covered Kaela’s face with kisses. “Daddy made us lunch. Let’s go eat?”

“Da!” Kaela squealed, turning to grin at Jaime.

They sat at the floor—it felt insanely good to take off his boots and stretch his legs. Brienne also stepped out of her loafers and put Kaela between them on the floor. “What masterpiece did you make this time?”

“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary,” he joked, handing her the sandwich. He waited for her to take the first bite, smirking as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. That was the same expression she had during orgasm.

“Gods, Jaime. This is just. . .heavenly,” she half-moaned.

In between bites and sips, they fed Kaela. She didn’t turn up her face or threw a tantrum at the food—she never had, which pleased Jaime to no end. Some people might think he should relax on the food he made for her but he slept better at night knowing that if she had potato chips, they didn’t come in a bag from the supermarket that was more salt than actual chips, packed with chemicals no one could pronounce. Rather, they were baked in the oven at home, and sprinkled with fresh herbs. If she wanted chocolate chip cookies, it was the same—he would rather make them than have her anywhere near store-bought, very sugary abominations.

It wasn’t vanity or narcissism, hell, being a snob had nothing to do with it. It was more of providing Kaela safety and security through healthy, nutritious meals. He never knew that as a child.

When Kaela finished, they let her wander back to the play pen. Brienne rejoined him on the floor to finish the rest of their meal. Jaime wrapped an arm around her legs, gazing at her tenderly as she took big bites of the sandwich.

“It’s good to see you eating normally again,” he murmured, swiping a thumb on the corner of her lip to get the dollop of sauce there. As he licked it, he saw her fighting back a smile. “What?”

She licked her lips. “I just can’t believe how everything is coming together for the launch. Harry Strickland’s coming. He’s only the biggest client we have. Oh, and you won’t believe the ten-million-dragon account we got. A skincare line strictly for men called Many Faces.”

Her giddiness was so fun to watch. He listened to her talk about the ad they would be doing, shot by Oberyn of course, because he was he was the best, and they were going to feature models of difference races, all the way from Winterfell to Yi Ti.

“Oh, I must tell you,” she said while he sipped the chocolate matcha beverage. “You wouldn’t believe who came here this morning offering photocopying services.”

“Photocopying services? You have machines so what do you need a service for?”

“Exactly! So, care to venture a guess?”

Grinning, his fingers inched up her thighs. “And if I guess right?”

“Jaime!”

“I’m sorry, but no name comes to mind.” He hugged her by the knees and nuzzled her. “Just tell me.”

Rubbing the tip of her nose against his, she murmured, “Renly.”

_“What the fuck?”_

“My sentiments exactly,” she said. “He’s not in advertising anymore.” Suddenly looking unsure, she added, “It’s wrong to wish him ill but—”

“Stop. Stop it.” He shook his head at her. “He almost destroyed your career. He deserves none of your goodness.”

He took her hand, squeezing it. “Serves him right having to resort to practically begging you for a job. He did you no favors. You wouldn’t have the agency if he was still around.”

“Nor would I have you.” She looked genuinely upset that he had to kiss her. Her sigh of relief stuttered between their lips. “I can’t wait for the launch, Jaime. Then the real work begins. Not what we haven’t been doing anything that isn’t real work.”

“You? Never do anything that isn’t real work? That’s not the woman I know.” He looked around the office, gesturing. “You’re the hardest working person I know. You deserve no less.”

She swept his hair from his face to caress his cheek. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

He smiled. “I just nudged you, wench. The rest was all on you.”

They kissed gently. She tasted of bacon, spices and chocolate. He grabbed her face in both hands to deepen the kiss, his eyes opening slightly to look at her. Maybe he shouldn’t have, he realized, seeing his backpack on the chair. Groaning, he pulled away very reluctantly.

“Jaime?” Her pout was sexy.

“Something I have to show you first.” He kissed her firmly on the mouth in apology then went got to his feet to get the backpack. He pulled out the paper Jon had given him and held it out. “Final cost for the launch.”

Brienne took it. Sure enough, a pale eyebrow raised. He sat down next to her. “It’s a few hundred dragons more than you’d intended.”

“It can’t be helped,” she said after a moment. “Everyone we invited agreed to come and will be bringing associates too.”

Seeing the lines form between her eyebrow, he leaned over to kiss her. “Jaime. That’s nice.”

“I can give a discount—”

“No. Why would you do that?”

“What’s the point of being married to me?” He pointed out, kissing her around the face. “Allow me to help you, Brienne.”

“I know, but you’re already doing so much. I don’t want to take advantage,” she said, humming in pleasure as he licked her lips.

“Ah, wench. I am,” he chuckled.

“Yeah?”

“I’m more than happy to give a discount as long as I get to collect when we go the Vale for the weekend. Come here.” He pulled her to straddle his lap. Eyes like molten sapphires and swollen lips red as strawberries filled his gaze before pulling her close for another kiss. He felt the stretch of her smile.

“And what exactly are you collecting?”

He whispered in her ear, smirking as the flare of her blush warmed his cheek. Then he leaned back, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. Soft motorboat sounds filled his ear as she hugged him.

“You never need to swing a discount to get that from me. I love doing it to you,” she whispered, kissing him from temple to ear. “But since you offered. . .”

Taking his face in her hands, she sought his lips. He let himself be swept up in the gentle tide of her kisses, the swoosh of her arms wrapping around his back. Her eyes were shimmering blue pools that saw him through him and all of him. He nibbled on her lower lips all while gazing at her with half-closed eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered between kisses.

In the air was the tell-tale scent of wet musk. It radiated from their bodies. The hardness between his legs could very well split his jeans open if he just breathed wrong. His hand longed to press on the heat between her thighs—she would be sticky, he knew.

Just as he’d made the decision to channel all his desire towards kisses, Brienne pulled his hand under her skirt. He groaned from the familiar, right feel of her. As their kisses renewed, she unzipped his jeans and cupped his cock.

Their soft groans and sighs in between fevered kisses, the whispered rustle of clothes, barely registered as noise, as sound. They hit their release at the same time, muffling their cries with more passionate, bruising kisses.

He smiled blearily at Brienne a few moments later, watching her step out of her sticky panties to stash them in her shoulder bag. She wiped her hands clean with tissue then rubbed hand sanitizer on them. She got down on one knee next to the playpen, murmuring something at Kaela that made the child giggle.

Her legs really were a phenomenon. Unbelievably, his cock twitched again. She returned to him, sitting on the couch this time to examine the sheet again. He sat up to wrap an arm around one leg and press his bearded cheek to the side of her knee.

“Take the discount, wench,” he urged, caressing her. “I want you to.”

“I know and I just love you more for that. But the agency can manage this. Besides,” she leaned down to kiss him, “artistry like yours must command such a price.”

As she signed her name, Jaime, because orgasm had fried some circuits in his brain, suddenly drawled, “I saw Margaery.”

“Margaery who? Oh.” Brienne frowned as she finished signing. “Her.”

“Came by the shop.” It was too late to take it back. Way to ruin things, Lannister, he thought, grimacing. He joined her on the couch.

“Uh-huh. What did she want now?” Brienne said dryly. He shook his head and traced the line of her lip with his thumb. “Some backroom deal to bail her restaurant out of trouble?”

“No, nothing like that. It closed down, she said. But don’t feel too bad for her. She’s at The Golden Stag now. And offered me a job.”

“What?”

“Executive Chef at The Golden Stag.”

_“Wow.”_

And for a few seconds, that was the last word spoken between them. Brienne eventually broke the silence. “Would you. . would you want to work there?”

“I declined, wench.”

“Are you sure? Jaime, it’s a prestigious position. Dad would have wanted you to.”

“I know. But it’s not what I want. I want the patisserie. I want being able to direct my own hours and coming home to you and Kaela without feeling so exhausted. I didn’t even have to give it another thought. Yes, it’s one hell of an offer but I already have the best job in the world.” He kissed her hand.

She kissed him on the cheek. “What matters is you’re happy.”

“There’s no person happier than I am. I’m exactly where I need to be.” He assured her. She gave him a little smile.

“I’m. . I’m glad you said no, Jaime.””

“Really?”

“I hardly saw Dad when he was working there. He did his best but I really missed him.”

He hugged her and she put her head on his shoulder, looped one of her legs around his knee. _Definitely no regrets._

“I did give her Jon’s name,” he admitted.

“Jon, really? Jon Snow? But he’s your sous chef, Jaime. You need him.”

“Yes. But I won’t stand in the way of someone who’s bound for more. I could always train someone to take over. It’s up to Margaery what happens next. If she’s smart, she’ll take my advice.”

“Momma, Da,” Kaela’s too-sweet voice interrupted them. Trying to climb over her play pen, Kaela continued, “Poo.”

As Jaime groaned and cast his eyes to the ceiling, Brienne giggled. “There goes cuddle time.” She started to get up but he stopped her.

“I’ll do it. Rest.” He kissed her.

Jaime picked up his daughter from the play pen then the bag of her supplies on his way out. Brienne got to her feet to get the lion plushie from the floor. “Roar,” Kaela tried to get it.

“He’ll wait for you my love. He doesn’t like to get wet,” Brienne explained.

Whether for use of men or woman, the bathrooms in the office were outfitted with a changing table. Jaime walked in just as Podrick was picking up his son off it.

“Jaime, perfect timing,” he said. His son had his dark eyes and hair. He took the rubber mat from the table. “See you around.”

After they left, Jaime removed Kaela’s shorts, leggings and underwear. Her diaper was already saturated and streaked with brown. She laughed as he gagged from the stink. Her sweet, little squeals and laughs echoed in the bathroom as he put her on the toilet to poop some more.

“Only daddy will love you despite the monster stink exploding from your ass, dumpling,” he said, his eyes watering. Kaela wrinkled her nose then pinched it.

It took several sheets of baby wipes, a squirt of hand wash on her pink bottom under running water, before Jaime judged her clean enough. He patted her dry with a soft towel then put a fresh diaper on her. With Kaela dressed and clinging to his legs, he dumped the soiled diaper and wipes in the bin, folded up the rubber mat. He washed his hands then picked her up again so she could wash hers.

They ran into Ellaria on the way back to Brienne’s office. She had Obara with her, now taller and looking less like a baby despite her round cheeks. They walked past the pantry where some of the staff were finishing their lunch. Podrick was there, sitting with his arm around Pia while she breastfed their baby under a shawl. Taena, Brienne’s assistant, was coaxing her two-year-old son to finish the last of the fried chicken.

“All good?” Brienne told him as they entered the office. Kaela threw her arms around her legs, squealing.

“Better than usual,” Jaime noticed she had packed up the storage containers and tumblers. Just as well, he thought. He had to go back to work soon.

Brienne handed him the signed sheet of expenses. “Here you go.”

“You’re really sure about the discount, wench? You’re saying no?”

He grinned as she hugged him around the waist. “You do need me to do it a lot to you while we’re in the Vale. It gets pretty cold.”

“Colder now,” he added. “I can’t fuck if it freezes and falls off.”

“A real tragedy, wouldn’t you say?”

“Only you can save me from it.” He kissed her firmly. “Like always.”

One kiss, as usual, was not enough. After a few more thrusts of tongue in each other’s mouths, they finally pulled away, flushed and slightly out of breath. He pulled on his coat while Brienne picked up Kaela, who was hugging her lion plushie to her chest. He shouldered his backpack and together, they left the office.

“Let’s just have takeaway tonight,” Brienne said as they stood in the lobby. Jaime raised the collar of his coat. Despite he warmth, he could feel the drop in the temperature as the day progressed. “Watch cartoons and just do nothing for the rest of the night.”

“Nothing?” Jaime teased. Brienne reddened and pressed her face against Kaela.

“Err. . .not until she’s in bed.” Then she whispered something to Kaela. Jaime watched them have what appeared to be a little conference and then she was extending her little hand towards him. Jaime took the plushie.

“Ah, dumpling. You want me to take him? But you’ll miss him.”

“Turn him over,” Brienne whispered.

So he did. And could only stare at the little device taped on the toy’s belly. It was Brienne touching his hand and slowly slipping her fingers between his that he finally raised his eyes to look at her. She was biting her lip.

“Another baby?” He barely heard himself speak. Taking the stick from the toy, he brushed his thumb on the pink positive sign. Her breath warmed his cheek, drawing his eyes to her.

Her gaze was watery. His too. And then slowly, very slowly, they burst into shaky but huge smiles at the same time. “Brienne,” he gasped, grabbing her and taking her by the mouth hungrily. Never mind that Kaela was squirming between them. Brienne kissed him back with equal passion. They pulled apart, with her forehead resting on his. He kept his arms around her, grinning to drop a kiss on Kaela’s forehead before returning his gaze on his wife. She caressed his chest, then his cheek.

“How long have you known? Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

“I wanted to be sure. I took the test last week and saw a doctor. It’s really happening, Jaime. We’re having another baby.”

“Nice to know that I have such champion swimmers they beat the pills again,” he joked. “Of course, had you gone on with the IUD, things would be very different.”

“No regrets,” she assured him. “Although you might like to take into account that fucking me almost everyday is why we’re pregnant again.”

“Also that.” He kissed her again. Why did he have to go back to work? Why must they go back to work? Wouldn’t it be better to kiss for the rest of the day? Look in her gorgeous sapphire eyes?

“Brienne, Brienne, Brienne.” Her name was his air, his beginning, his standpoint. His life. “What you’ve done for me. . .what the fuck did I do to have someone like you? To be this fucking happy? Do you know?”

“I can make a guess,” she answered as they both reached for Kaela’s hand. He kissed them both.

“Tell me.”

Sapphire eyes in which he saw the rest of his life—the sweet golden days and silver nights sunk in passion—looked at him. His heart was full of song.

“Everything, Jaime.” Her touch on his cheek was grace. The truest grace of all. He cradled her hand, feeling himself born yet again. “You did everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> My depiction of Jaime and Brienne could be OOC. . .because I switched them but without making them be the exact opposite of who they are in canon and the show.  
> Jaime clearly has no trouble with confidence but as we've seen in this chapter, he has certain needs that not even sex with two gorgeous women could truly satisfy. This would shape the decisions he made as a result. Brienne being outspoken here is definitely jarring. I have to find a way to translate Brienne's physical strength in the books in a modern setting without having her as another Terminator of some sorts--you know what I mean! Book Brienne is not super confident but she knows how to fight. She knows her strengths. So in this universe, I translate that to Brienne knowing what skills she has to get ahead, and does them well. While these qualifications should put her at the top of the pile, it becomes a setback, as you've seen. 
> 
> I hope you liked the first chapter. I'm slowly updating my other fics as well but to do that, I need my strength back. My health hasn't been the best in recent months and my meds make me drowsy. . .along with other weird side effects! I'm sorry for keeping you waiting but I will get there. 
> 
> Thank you!


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